


Black Butterfly

by Roseblade22



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Blood and Gore, Creepy Hisoka (Hunter X Hunter), F/M, Pre-Canon, Psychological Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-01-27 17:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roseblade22/pseuds/Roseblade22
Summary: No one else wanted the job of interviewing the most unpredictable combatant at Heaven's Arena, so Rhea Satto took it. Nothing else was amusing to Hisoka, so he tested the meek, mentally-anguished journalist to within an inch of her sanity. Neither of them expected what came next. Hisoka x OC. Pre-canon.





	1. Just Breathe

**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Hunter x Hunter; only my plot and my original characters belong to me.

 **Author’s Note:** I am so excited to get to start on this story.  I haven’t written any stories with an OC character for a very, very long time—like eight plus years! For those of you who don’t know me, I am a ten-year veteran of fanfiction, and I like to use writing as a tool to explore characters I find confusing or interesting.  I was trying to imagine what it would be like just to sit down and talk to Hisoka about himself, and this story evolved from that. I hope you enjoy.

**SOFTLY, DARKLY**

**Chapter One:  Just Breathe**

_Remember to breathe._

The young woman watched intently as a mass of strange, intimidating, and diverse characters strolled casually about her.  Her eyes fluttered from one person to the next, trying to make sense of the hustle and bustle, but failing. Finally, she took another deep, anxious breath and looked down, watching the pale, faintly scarred skin on her knuckles whiten slowly as she clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

_Everything will be all right.  You can do this._

She was waiting in the common area of the 200th floor of the legendary Heaven’s Arena skyscraper—a place where legendary warriors battled for fame and fortune, where business magnates bet their life’s savings on the outcomes of the matches, and where the general population could share in the gore and the glory for the price of just one ticket.  It was a spectacular place to find herself, but as the brightly-costumed bodies noisily shuffled past her small table in the corner of the room, she felt increasingly out of place.  She took another deep breath and glanced down at the brand new press pass hanging around her neck for reassurance.

A large, stocky man with a brightly-colored Mohawk, massive belly, and wild-looking spandex costume brushed past her table a little too swiftly, nearly knocking over the cup of coffee she’d just poured.  Perturbed, the novice reporter threw him a look.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, her tone slightly annoyed.

The man swiveled his head around to face her, pinning her down with a scrutinizing glare.  She immediately felt smaller than she already was, but she fought to hold his gaze as he looked on—probably noting her shabby, thrift-store skirt and jacket, mass of mousy, messily-braided hair, and round, determined eyes.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the man grunted dismissively and plodded away.  The young woman sighed in relief, but she still felt the sharp knife of anxiety twisting painfully in her stomach.

 _Just breathe,_ she repeated in her head.   _You can do this. You must._

She felt momentarily calmer, but then she made the mistake of glancing at the folder laid out neatly across her side of the table.  On the cover was the name and picture of the man she was waiting to interview.  So far, he was already five minutes late and counting.  As she looked again at the photograph, the nervous ache in her gut intensified.

The man had eye-catching red hair, pale skin, and slanted, amber eyes.  The severity and sharpness of his features made it seem as if they’d been carved deliberately by a blade.  On his cheeks he’d carefully painted a star and a teardrop.  In her opinion, he looked a bit like a crazed jester or a circus clown.

But his reputation far outweighed his outlandish appearance.  According to his file, he’d rocketed to the 200th floor of Heaven’s Arena in less than two months’ time, and he hadn’t hesitated to kill opponents.  The bloody record and the erratic, bizarre behavior he displayed inside the ring only added to his intrigue, but no one knew anything about him or his past.  It was as if he’d materialized from nothingness.

The woman’s eyes flicked back up for a moment.  She scanned the room for anyone who looked like the picture, but saw nothing but a colorful mish-mash of figures and forms.  She glanced down again, examining the photo more closely this time.

The man looked wicked and dangerous.  She could see the tautness of the muscle in his face and neck, as if his entire body was tightly coiled and tense, like a serpent readying to strike.

Even his name sounded like the hissing of a venomous snake.

_Hisoka._

The young woman felt her heart begin to pound more painfully against her ribcage the longer she spoke his name in her head and looked at the photo, so she tore her eyes away and glanced back down at her white-knuckled, scarred hands.  She felt her tendons constrict as her thin, pale fingers tightly grasped the frayed edges of her skirt, and reaffirmed silently the reason why she was here in the first place.

 _You must do this,_ she thought once again.   _You have no other choice._

…

_A burly, dark-haired man nonchalantly smoked his cigarette and grasped her flimsy, pitiful resume in his fleshy hands, while she stared at him expectantly.  He said nothing for a long time, but grazed his eyes over her, cocking an eyebrow skeptically at her plain appearance. She waited eagerly for him to speak, trying to desperately to mask her desperation._

_“So…” he finally murmured, sounding extremely bored.  “What’s your name again?”_

_It’s on the top of the page you’re holding, she wanted to say.  But that would have been rude, unwanted, and would most likely result in her being paraded out of here with a heavy dose of shame and no job._

_“It’s Rhea, sir,” she answered obediently.  “Rhea Satto.”_

_The man raised a bushy, black eyebrow, and then his eyes floated back down to her resume.  She exhaled a small, silent sigh of relief.  This pressure was almost too much for her to take, but she was willing to endure it if it meant getting a job.  She’d been searching for a steady, reliable position as a journalist for—what was it?  Three years now?  Still, it wasn’t every day a person was interviewed by the chief editor of a major news corporation.  The etched name plate sitting neatly atop his desk was a small testament to his importance, and she was having trouble believing that she was sitting in front of him._

_This was Derks Beck: Editor-in-Chief of The Republic Daily News.  It was the largest news media corporation in Padokea, and he was the company’s brains and brawn.  Rhea only hoped that he’d be impressed with what she presented._

_“Well,” Derks finally grunted, dropping the papers in his hand to the desk and throwing inattentive, false smile her way.  “I’ll be honest with you, Miss Satto: You’re persistent.  I hear that this is the third time you’ve applied to the Republic Daily. But your experience is minimal and your resume is nothing to scream about.  Why exactly should I hire you?”_

_Rhea felt her thumping heart begin to rapidly sink into her stomach.  He wasn’t impressed.  She’d have to salvage this somehow—it was undoubtedly her last chance to make an impression before she was shown the door and all of her future attempts to secure a position would be ignored._

_“Sir,” she began very slowly, “I believe you pegged me exactly right—I’m extremely stubborn.  I want to work here very badly, and I don’t intend to stop applying until I’m hired.”_

_Derks cocked his head, seemingly interested.  Rhea continued more quickly now, worried that her impromptu speech might outlast his attention._

_“Mr. Beck, I want you to know that I conduct myself in much the same way when I’m reporting,” she said, her confidence growing as each word dropped from her lips.  “I do not give up until I’ve found the truth.  That’s what I believe in, so that’s what I search for.  You won’t find a more willing, honest, and diligent employee.”_

_The man across the desk blinked slowly, and she felt her sudden confidence take an even more sudden nosedive.  He looked as though he was resisting rolling his eyes.  Finally, after a long pause, Derks opened his mouth again._

_“It’s not like I don’t admire your determination, Miss Satto,” he replied grumpily. “But what I’d really like to find is a reporter with the necessary qualifications, which you unfortunately don’t have.”_

_Rhea felt her sinking heart skip a beat.  No—not again.  She could not—_ _would not_ _—be turned away from her dream job for a third time.  She was about to launch into a passionate argument when Derks finished his sentiment._

_“…however, you’re all I’ve got right now.”_

_Rhea stared disbelievingly at the man.  She could hear her pulse pounding rhythmically in her ears.  “I—I don’t know what you mean.  No one else applied for the job?”_

_The Editor-in-Chief leaned back in his leather chair and slung his arms behind his head.  “Oh, no,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “Plenty have applied.  But no one stays in this position for very long.”_

_Rhea stared at the man uncertainly.  “Why?”_

_Her interviewer’s already intense expression took on a new, sharper edge.  He leaned across the desk towards her and spoke in a hot, heated whisper.  “Have you ever heard of Heaven’s Arena, Miss Satto?”_

_“Of course, sir,” she answered and nodded her head, but then paused. “Although…I don’t know much about it, other than people go there to watch competitors fight one another.”_

_“Then you don’t know that the reporters at Republic Daily are contracted with Heaven’s Arena to publish monthly interviews with those competitors?”_

_“No, but that sounds very lucrative.”_

_“It certainly is, Miss Satto.  The contract idea was my brainchild,” Derks boasted proudly.  “It drums up more consistent revenue for the Tower; gives the fighters a chance to promote themselves regularly, and most importantly, it sells our papers.  It’s a fantastic partnership.  And ninety-nine percent of the time, it goes on without a hitch.”_

_He glanced across the desk at her, pausing in his pitch.  Rhea swallowed, feeling the inside of her throat slowly turning to sandpaper._

_“And the other one percent?” she asked._

_Derks sighed heavily, a loud, wheezing sound that echoed off the bare walls of his office.  “Once in a while we have an in-demand fighter who is doesn’t like to be interviewed. Usually we can negotiate with them and come up with some kind of a deal.  But a new competitor showed up at the tower a few months ago, and he’s different._ _Extremely_ _different.”_

_Suddenly, Rhea felt like she didn’t like where this conversation was going.  Her heart began to slide downward towards her stomach again, but she decided to say nothing about her growing fear._

_“Let me be clear, Miss Satto,” Derks said sternly. “I would not hire you if I didn’t think I had no other choice.  I don’t think you’re right for this job.  I’m not sure if anyone is.  You’ll be the fourth person to hold this position in two months.  The first two people I hired quit after the first day.  And we’re talking veteran journalists here--people who have seen war and death.”_

_“And the third person?” Rhea asked curiously._

_Derks’s furry black eyebrows drooped, his gaze dropped to his desk, and his expression became grim._

_“He’s dead, Miss Satto.”_

_Rhea’s eyes widened.  “What—what happened?”_

_“It’s my belief that the competitor he was supposed to interview killed him,” the Editor-in-Chief said solemnly.  “But the police have no proof, so the guy walks, and my contract with Heaven’s Arena is still binding.  I have to find another person to interview him.  No one will take the job…unless you do.”_

_Derks glanced back up towards his interviewee.  His expression was not welcoming.  Rhea felt the cold chill of blood draining from her face, the pinch of her fingernails digging into her legs through the fabric of her skirt, and the heavy weight of reality settling down upon her._

_“Mr. Beck, please,” she began, adopting a pleading tone. “Aren’t there any other positions you might consider me for?  I need this job.”_

_The man shook his head.  “No, Miss Satto.  Until you’re more qualified, it’s this job or nothing.  That’s all I can offer you.”_

_Rhea gaped at Derks in disbelief.  Was this the choice he was offering her?  Risk her life by attempting an interview with an alleged murderer, or walk away with yet another failure under her belt?  Her pulse was deafening in her ears, her heart had all but disappeared into the pit of her stomach, and she could feel the cold prickles of goose bumps beginning to crawl up her spine.  She had to remind herself to inhale. Finally, she realized that she had no options at all—except one._

_“I’ll take it,” she breathed._

…

Rhea sighed as she reminisced, when another person knocked against the back of her chair and sent her jolting forward and out of her daydream.  This time she suppressed the urge to open her mouth to say something to the offender.  Instead, she shifted uncomfortably in her chair and glanced at her watch.

She frowned unpleasantly.  It was already half-past two o’clock.  Her interviewee was supposed to have met her here thirty minutes ago.  She felt an icy finger of panic worm its way into her insides and slapped her hands onto the table, leaning over the file and scrutinizing the schedule she’d been given.  The piece of paper confirmed her worst fears:  This was the correct place, at the correct time.  But the subject of her interview was nowhere to be found.

What if he didn’t show?  Rhea wasn’t sure if she’d be relieved or not.  On one hand, she’d never have to meet the suspected killer of her predecessor.  On the other hand, Derks had made it clear that if she didn’t secure an interview with Hisoka and come away with some usable material within a week of her initial hiring, she’d be fired.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath.  “Where is he?”

Rhea scanned the room again, bobbing her foot under the table impatiently.  She’d drunk too much coffee while waiting, and now her nerves felt as if they were being plucked and played like a harp.  She sucked in air in panicked, shallow gasps and her heartbeat fluttered about in her chest like a dying butterfly.  Wave after wave of worry and trepidation crashed down upon her.  As her anxiety grew to a peak, the young woman felt as if she could stand up on the top of the table and scream…but instead she balled up her fist, slipped a knuckle between her lips, and bit it.  

It was an odd behavior—a remnant of a childhood habit—but she didn’t care who saw her.  No one seemed to pay any attention to the tiny girl in the corner anyway.

Rhea wasn’t surprised.  Her entire life had been like that.

The feeling of flesh pinching between her teeth and the rough skin dragging across her lips was slightly calming.  She breathed in through her nose slowly and was careful not to bite so hard as to cause bleeding.  The skin on her hands was unusually thin and fragile, stretched taut like damp paper, and crisscrossed with pale scars.  This too was a remnant of her past: A piece of her that she didn’t like to remember, but that she couldn’t separate from the rest. Flashes of vague memories circled Rhea’s thoughts as she felt the edges of her teeth sink slowly into the meat of her finger.

_Mom used to hate it when I did this._

The rookie journalist sighed and reluctantly removed her knuckle from her mouth, folding her hands in her lap and resigning herself to wait—however impatiently—for her interviewee to appear.  But before he showed—or didn’t show—she had to find some way to stave off her anxiousness.  She closed her eyes, sucking the air between her lips and out her nose, in another effort to calm biting nervousness that was twisting her up inside.

 _Remember to breathe,_ Rhea told herself.   _Just breathe._

This simple meditation had something she’d been practicing since she was a little girl, ever since her mother taught her that controlled, steady breathing was a much better way of suppressing the urge to scream, cry, or run than biting into her own fingers. Anxiety had always been something of a problem for her.  She sucked in a breath, feeling the tension in her body as her ribs expanded, and then let it all go along with her worries in a massive exhale.

After a few minutes of this ritual, she began to feel just a little bit better.

 _That should be good for now,_ she decided.

Rhea slowly opened her eyes.  When she did, she was no longer sitting alone at the table.

Sitting in front of her with his elbows propped up on the tabletop, resting his chin casually on the backs of his hands, was the man in the photograph: Wild hair, golden eyes, long nails, clown-like make-up and all.  He was right in front of her.

_Hisoka._

She nearly jumped out of her seat to see him appear so suddenly.  In return, he granted her a sly, serpentine smile.

“So sorry,” he hissed, and the sound of his voice made Rhea’s hair stand on end.  “I do believe I’m late for my interview.”

...

 **Author's Note:** Yay! I did it! Please let me know what you think and thanks for reading!


	2. The First Interview

**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Hunter x Hunter; only my plot and my original characters belong to me.

 **Author’s Note:** I’m so pleased that my first chapter seemed to be well-liked!  Thank you to all who read it, and especially to those who reviewed!  

So, it’s a full moon tonight. Full moons tend to make the crazy out in everyone. What better way to celebrate than to add a new chapter chock-full of Hisoka?  No better way, I tell you.  I hope I nailed his character, for he is equal parts enigmatic and fun to write.  As always, feedback from you - my readers - is immensely appreciated, so thank you!  Enjoy the second installment of  _Black Butterfly!_

...

**Chapter Two:  The Interview**

**...**

He found it interesting that this time they had sent a woman.

Hisoka mused silently to himself as he peered around the corner.  He’d arrived at the interview spot early on and had selected his vantage point carefully, so that he might be able to observe and assess his target.  Now he lingered lazily, flipping his deck of cards between his palms and watching the girl from across the room with predatory intent.

His sharp eyes glossed over her appearance, noting her small frame, her threadbare, painfully plain clothing, and the tension in her hands, which gripped the edge of her skirt under the table.  She was a frail, delicate-looking creature.  A _very_ breakable toy.  Not fun at all.

_Unless…_

The magician wondered if perhaps the press had begun to smarten up about their tactics.  Did they send a woman on purpose?  Did they want her to try to seduce an interview out of him?  No.  This girl wasn’t made up for that part.  If they had wanted that, they would have sent some tall Amazonian woman with red lips and bedroom eyes.

He smiled and glanced down at his cards, amused at the thought of something _that_ mundane turning him on.

_So then why send this girl?_

Perhaps it was a different type of seduction.

 _If one wants to catch wolves,_ Hisoka surmised, _use weakened bait._

He glanced back towards the waiting girl, scrutinizing her once more.  She was so slight, so unassuming—the other people in the room bumped into her as if she wasn’t there.  Hisoka watched with interest as a particularly portly wrestler lumbered clumsily past and nearly knocked her drink over.  She appeared annoyed and muttered something, prompting the much larger man to turn his head and glare heatedly at her.  Interestingly, she didn’t avert her eyes from his glower, and eventually the wrestler turned and wandered away.

Hisoka cocked an eyebrow.  Maybe she wasn’t so meek after all…

He felt a slight twinge of excitement as the delicious thought of killing her surfaced, but he quickly suppressed it.  Even with the tiny fire of determination shining in her eyes, this girl wasn’t anything special to him.  She was far, _far_ too weak to pose any kind of challenge, and that made her uninteresting.  If it hadn’t been for his contracted obligation to meet with her and his own profound boredom, he wouldn’t even be here stalking her.  Besides, his palate had dulled to the taste of ordinary killing long ago.

The magician’s eyes flashed momentarily away from his prey and darted from faced to face around the room.  He assessed each person he glanced at, but found few of them worth more than a fleeting look, and none worthy of fighting.  Hisoka felt his mouth curve into an uncharacteristic frown.  His appetite had grown much more difficult to satisfy lately, and so he’d come here—Heaven’s Arena—to seek out new, more formidable prey. But until a suitable fighter turned up, he had to amuse himself using other means.

That meant bad news for this inconspicuous journalist.

Hisoka cast his eyes back towards the small table in the corner and continued to observe the girl, noting her expressions and idiosyncrasies. She seemed equal parts bored, anxious, and increasingly uncomfortable in her seat.  Minutes passed.  Someone else knocked into her chair, but this time she said nothing. He flipped his cards, growing disinterested.

The girl glanced at her watch worriedly, and Hisoka found the will to smile again, pleased that at the very least he—or rather, his absence—was the cause of distress. He could see the little lines of frustration form on her face as she glanced anxiously about the room in search of him.

Hisoka sighed to himself and glanced up at the large, digital clock above where he stood.  He was now more than thirty minutes late for his appointment to interview.  He wished he could simply avoid it as he did with all other things that didn’t interest him, but as a competitor at Heaven’s Arena, he was contractually obligated to appear.  If he didn’t, he would be denied his private room—and he’d grown rather fond of his apartment.

He’d have to meet with her eventually.

The magician flipped through his cards one final time, and then turned back towards the girl.  By now she had closed her eyes, fixed her hands delicately in her lap, and was practicing some sort of slow breathing exercise, leaving her unaware of her surroundings.

Hisoka felt a mischievous grin spread slowly across his face.

_Time to play…_

If he took proper care of this reporter, as he did with her three predecessors, there wouldn’t be a fifth interview.  Quickly and quietly, he crossed the room, slid gently into the seat in front of her, and waited for her to open her eyes.

Eventually she did, and her fearful expression was…well…

 _I_ _love_ _that look…_ Hisoka thought gleefully.

To her credit, the girl didn’t scream or try to run out the door at the sudden sight of him.  But the fright he’d clearly given her was enough to keep him interested for the time being.

“So sorry,” he told her, his eyes glinting playfully.  “I do believe I’m late for my interview.”

…

Every cell in her body, every shred of common sense, and every intuition Rhea had ever possessed shrieked at her to turn and run.

But she couldn’t.

She was frozen in her seat, petrified, as if several strong, invisible hands were holding her there.  For a tense, terrifying moment, all she could do was stare across the table at the smirking man in front of her.

He was here—Hisoka.

 _Say something,_ Rhea urged herself silently, but in her fear she was suddenly rendered mute.

Her guest didn’t seem bothered by the silence that stretched languidly between them.  He leered curiously at her, his golden, perceptive eyes lingering slowly over her face and form, absorbing and assessing every detail of her.  To passersby it looked as if nothing more than two strangers staring across the table at one another, but to Rhea every flick of Hisoka’s eyes felt like someone was dragging a rake over her skin. She cringed uncomfortably against the intensity of his gaze, until she finally found the volition to say something.

“Excuse me…I mean, I’m sorry,” she said, and then immediately corrected herself. Then she attempted a smile and added: “You frightened me.”

One of Hisoka’s sharply arched eyebrows lifted in amusement, and from his lips escaped a small, strange little sigh, but he said nothing more.  Rhea swallowed and nodded, attempting to gather her scattered thoughts.  Her mouth was suddenly very dry.  She sat up a little straighter, but her posture didn’t lend her any more confidence.

“I’m Rhea Satto, from the Republic Daily,” she finally forced out.  “I’m glad to finally meet with you.”

 _What a terrible lie,_ she thought despondently.

Hisoka’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his smile was unwavering.  “Charmed,” he purred.

Rhea went on, feeling as if she was numbly reading from a script.  She was a robot, but the knife of panic still twisted in her gut.  “I’m here to speak with you in regards to your recent history here at Heaven’s Arena," she explained. "Um—it seems you’ve caused quite a sensation.”

Hisoka had no reaction this time; he simply continued staring at her with a piercing glare, pinning her to her seat like an insect on display.  She wished she would look away for just a second, blink, _something_ to give her relief from the scrutiny of his gaze.  But the Heaven’s Arena combatant didn’t avert his eyes.  Finally, Rhea’s hands shakily lifted from her lap and nervously fluttered about the tabletop, pushing aside her files and finally reaching for her purse.  She foraged around in it a moment before pulling out a digital voice recorder.

“I’d like to ask you some questions about yourself,” she said hurriedly as she placed the recorder on the table, pressed the ‘record’ button, and stuffed her hands under the table again.  “Shall we begin?”

The sly smile on Hisoka’s face creased into something slightly more spirited, and he slowly drew on hand out from under his chin, his pointer finger extended.  Rhea’s eyes darted from his face to his hand and back again, her breath hitched in her throat.  She continued to watch as he gracefully traced a small circle into the air and then dropped his hand, his long-nailed fingertip gently pressing the ‘stop’ button on the recorder.  

Rhea’s lips parted in surprise, and her eyes shot back up to meet his, questions already beginning to form on the surface of her tongue.  But before she could speak a word, Hisoka raised his palm, halting her thoughts right there.

“First, let me ask _you_ a question,” he told her, his voice thin and smooth like silk. “If you can answer correctly, I’ll agree to an interview.  Do you accept?”

Rhea was caught off guard by the strange request, and she found her gaze drifting downward and concentrating on surface of the table.  The magician waited patiently while Rhea sat, her mind caught in a web of indecision and her face crinkled into puzzled frown.  She glanced back towards at Hisoka every so often, half-afraid that he might slip away as suddenly and silently has he had appeared. But there he stayed, tilting his head to one side, his eyes narrowing curiously.  The painful, twisting anxiety throbbed in her stomach, and she felt slightly sick.  

What would Hisoka ask her?  More importantly, why was he playing this--this _game_?  He had only just met her.  Rhea could only surmise that he was trying to test her in some way.  Maybe this was amusing for him.  Her eyes glanced towards him once more as she struggled with her thoughts for another tense moment, and his expression told her that her guess was correct.  

For the second time in two days, Rhea found herself, frightened, intimidated, and being asked to make an impossible decision.  

 _Just breathe,_ she reminded herself.  Finally, her eyes flickered back up to Hisoka’s waiting gaze.

“All right,” she conceded, although with great reluctance.

Hisoka’s sly smile grew slightly wider.  

“Very well,” he said, and this time his voice was full of mischief.  

His pale hand fluttered suddenly, and a playing card mysteriously appeared in his fingers with a sharp flick.  Rhea’s nerves betrayed her at the sound, and she jolted ever-so-slightly in her seat in surprise at the flicker of movement. The magician’s yellow eyes flashed teasingly as he flipped the card back and forth expertly between each of his digits.  Rhea watched with a widened gaze, both mesmerized and baffled by his trick.

“One question, and only one correct answer,” Hisoka said, and his flipping card abruptly ceased its dance. “Here it is:  ‘If you have me, you don’t share me.  If you share me, you don’t have me.  What am I?’”

Rhea stared at him, both her eyes and the space inside her head blank.  Her mind grasped for any kind of answer that would make sense.  Seconds crept by with agonizing sluggishness, and she began to feel her heartbeat turn to thunder in her chest.  What kind of question was that?  A riddle?  How on earth was she able to muster a reply to such a vague, confounding prompt? Her breathing quickened and her pulse pounded in her skull.  But there was nothing—not even a foggy semblance of a proper response—that materialized in her head.

 _What do I do?_ she thought, the panicky feeling in her chest tightening into a knot.  She fought another wild urge to shove a knuckle into her mouth and clamp down on it.   _I have nothing!_

Her frantic eyes flicked up towards Hisoka.  He was observing her reaction intently, and clearly enjoying her distress.  

“Do you give up?” he asked, chuckling amusedly.

Rhea couldn’t bring herself to admit defeat.  Her growing sense of panic had paralyzed her.  She was silent, but her lack of speech spoke loudly enough for Hisoka.  His predacious grin widened in triumph.

“The answer,” he revealed softly, as if someone might be listening, “is a _secret_.”

The card in his hand did another acrobatic flip along the tops of his fingers, before he snapped them and it vanished in a little puff of smoke.  Once again, Rhea blinked disbelievingly at him, not only at the magic he appeared to perform but at his enigmatic answer to the riddle.

 _If you have me, don’t share me.  If you share me, you don’t have me…_ she mulled over in her head.   _Of course…a secret! Why didn’t I—_

“You see, secrets are my specialty,” Hisoka’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and his tone had become slightly more serious. “I don’t intend to share them without getting something worthwhile in return.”

The young journalist saw a minuscule chance to salvage the interview, and she jumped at it with abandon.  “Then perhaps we can strike a deal,” she suggested urgently.  

“Deal?” the magician queried, his sharp eyebrows rising in surprise.  He seemed mildly interested.

Rhea’s heart shuddered as she spoke her next words.  “If it’s what you want, I can offer you a fair trade:  My secrets for yours.  Something for something.”

The expression on Hisoka’s painted face shifted slightly.  Slowly, he slid his arms from atop the table and leaned back against his chair, but his scrutinizing eyes were still firmly anchored upon the young woman in front of him.  It appeared that he hadn’t expected such an offer and that he might be considering it. Rhea fidgeted anxiously in her seat while waiting for an answer.  Her hands contorted, their knuckles paling rapidly, and her fingernails began to dig through the cloth of her skirt.  They bit sharply into the skin beneath the fabric, and the tiny pinch of pain kept her rooted in the present, despite her spiraling anxiety.  Finally, after a very tense few minutes, Hisoka leaned forward again, a severe expression etched onto his face.

“How admirable of you to offer,” he remarked coolly. “But I’m afraid that nothing you could offer would interest me.”

His words cut into Rhea like the edge of a knife, and yet the magician didn’t seem to notice how she flinched.  He began to rise from his seat, but he granted her one last dismissive glance.

“You’ve lost your wager, so I’ll be taking my leave now.”

Rhea felt the heat of tears blossom behind her eyes as he began to turn away.

 _No—no, no, no—it can’t end like this!_  She fought off another urge to scream. _I can’t go back.  I can’t!_    

“But—please!” she cried desperately, grasping at threads.  “You’re contracted to speak with me!  I need _something_ to publish!”

Hisoka’s eyes flickered back in her direction, and for the first time, he regarded her without a trace of playfulness in his eyes.  A sudden darkness swirled to life and seeped across the table towards the young woman.  It drenched her in an unshakable, indescribable feeling of dread.  This was different than the typical fear: It was a very real, physical reaction to something undeniably evil that was emanating from Hisoka, like dozens of needles pricking her skin.  Rhea’s very breath was stolen from her lungs, her insides twisted painfully, and her skin itched as if it was trying to crawl off of her very bones to get away from him.

However, the strange sensation only lasted a few seconds, and then Hisoka broke his gaze and his expression returned to normal.  The air between them cleared, and Rhea gasped as she was finally able to breathe again.

 _What the hell did he just do to me?_ she thought as she looked hesitantly up at him.

Hisoka’s eyes glossed over her one more time.  He looked--what was that expression?  She blinked hesitantly up at him for a moment before deciding on an emotion:  Dissatisfaction.  

“My contract states that I must sit for an interview, but it doesn’t specify that I must speak.  You understand,” he told her.  His slanted, golden eyes looked slightly vacant, as if his mind had wandered somewhere else.  “I have nothing more to say to you.”

The magician pivoted and began to saunter off.  Rhea watched his back, the heat behind her eyes welling up and finally forming hot tears.  They spilled onto her cheeks freely, with nothing left to hold them back.  The young reporter dipped her head in misery, hiding her face and winding her fingers into her hair.  Anger, self-loathing, and an overwhelming sense of failure crashed down on her like a massive wave.

 _I failed,_ she realized.   _I’ve failed, I’ve failed, I’ve failed…._

The hateful mantra continued inside her head.  But as she battled with her turbulent thoughts, Rhea didn’t realize that Hisoka had stopped and turned to glance over his shoulder at her one final time.

…

Hisoka stared back towards the girl, a little repulsed by her weakened mental state.  But he supposed he wasn’t completed displeased.  When he couldn’t get off on hurting people physically, damaging their emotions was sometimes enough to satisfy him.  But it was nothing more than a cheap, temporary thrill, nowhere near as profound as tearing the flesh from someone’s bones or slicing open their necks with a Nen-enhanced card.

Still, the young woman’s reaction to his refusal was as intriguing as it was pitiful—just enough to get him to pause in his withdrawal and observe her a few moments longer.  Now as he witnessed the naïve journalist sink into her seat and give in to despair, he wondered why she seemed so defeated.  What exactly did this interview mean to her, that it left her so despondent when he refused?

 _Perhaps…_ he began, but then he brushed the intermittent thought away.

A moment later the girl’s head lifted, and she brushed the strands of hair from her face.  There were tears glittering in the corners of her eyes.  She hastily wiped the offending droplets from her lashes before her eyes fluttered up and she noticed him still standing there.  She gasped in surprise—a pleasurably sharp little intake of breath—and scowled back at him.  There was no more fire of determination in her eyes, but instead a desperation that aroused images within Hisoka’s mind of an injured animal caught in a trap.  He was suddenly overwhelmed with the intense desire—no, the _need_ —to kill her: Not because she was particularly interesting, not because he thought he’d enjoy it, and most certainly not because she was worthy of the beautiful death he could give her—but because she was simply _pathetic_.  So weak, so unworthy…she didn’t deserve the life she had.  

The magician tried to shake the vicious compulsion off, but it was even stronger than the urge he’d suppressed moments ago when he’d been leaving the table.  He felt his killing aura begin to seep out of his skin again and creep across the floor towards the girl.  A single playing card flicked into existence between his fingers.

Then he paused.

 _No…_ he chided to himself as his eyes darted around the room. _Too many others, too much risk…for not enough reward._

With an unhappy, exacerbated sigh, Hisoka fluttered his fingers, and the card in his hand vanished.  His killing aura gradually dissipated and he was left with another heavy feeling of dissatisfaction.  But he knew that if he succumbed to his homicidal urges here, there would be several witnesses and dire complications.  Many more would have to die—which he didn’t mind, of course—but he would be forced to leave and would be unable to return to Heaven’s Arena to compete or reside in his apartment.  Furthermore, he’d be regressing back into a common murderer—one who preyed on those significantly weaker than him, without reason or provocation—a person he’d now come to despise.

Hisoka’s eyes flickered back towards the woeful girl.  She had seemingly accepted her sad fate, for her head had sunk low again.  Her pale hands were slowly gathering up the materials left abandoned on the tabletop, and her eyes were staring morosely into the distance.

 _Very well,_ he resolved silently to himself.

His assessment of her was complete, his mind made up.  This wretched young creature didn’t deserve the pitiful existence she had, but she didn’t deserve his time either.  He’d figured out another way to deal with her kind, through discreet and indirect means.  Slowly and deliberately, Hisoka turned back to face her.

“One more thing,” he called softly in her direction.

The sorrowful girl’s head shot back up, her wide eyes expectant and still wet around the edges.

“Yes?” she replied, her voice as thin and frail as the rest of her.

Hisoka’s serpentine smile returned, cutting a wide, sickle-shaped line across his painted face.  He held up one graceful finger and continued: “If you are indeed so eager to know more about me, then you’ll seek out a man named Li Wenxin, in the Tanzo District.”

The journalist’s eyes narrowed in confusion and suspicion.  She began to open her mouth to inquire more, but the magician shot her another bloodthirsty look that halted her tongue.

“That is all, Rhea Satto,” he declared, with one final, knowing grin.  “Goodbye.”

Then he turned and went.  He did not look back.

…

Rhea sat breathlessly in her chair, staring after Hisoka as he weaved his way through the crowd like a snake until he disappeared.  Only after her lungs began to ache did she remember that she had to inhale.  When she finally sucked in a gulp of precious air, she practically choked on it and clutched a hand to her chest as though she’d been drowning in her fear.

The young woman’s eyes fluttered up towards the ceiling as she tried to stave off her intense anxiety.  She registered the frantic thumping of her heartbeat beneath her callused fingers, and tightly closed her eyes, willing herself not to scream aloud.

 _Just breath,_ she urged herself again.   _Just keep breathing._

This time, the ritual her mother had taught her did not help. The slow knife of unease was still in her gut, twisting painfully, even though her guest had gone.  Her nerves had been so tightly strung and so expertly plucked by Hisoka’s every word and gesture that she felt as though her sanity was beginning to unravel.  Rhea felt grateful just to be alive—but that was not all.

The magician had given her a tiny nugget of hope: A place and a name where she might seek out the information she needed.

 _Li Wenxin,_ she repeated in her head so she would not forget.   _Tanzo District._

Her spirits began to revive. She hadn’t gotten an interview, but she might be able to squeeze information from this other person— _if_ she could find him.  Today wasn’t a total failure, and neither was she.

However, despite this small semblance of victory, Rhea’s nerves were still thoroughly frayed.  The situation had been too intense; her breathing exercises simply weren’t helping calm her…so she finally relinquished herself to a much stronger, older compulsion. Again, the young woman purposefully balled up her fist and slipped a single, scarred knuckle between her teeth.

Pain was a welcome distraction to her distress, so this time she bit down _hard_.

And this time the blood flowed freely.  

…

 **Additional Author’s Notes:** Whoop whoop!  Another chapter done!  You’re all lucky: I’m a huge fan of cliffhangers, and I usually prefer to end chapters with them (I humbly submit the first chapter of this story as proof), but this time it wound up that I wrote something a little less agonizing for my readers.  You’re welcome!  Well, once more, thank you ever so much for your readership.  I’m grateful for each and every one of you. 


	3. The Killing Jar

**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Hunter x Hunter; only my plot and my original characters belong to me. 

**Author’s Note:** If you know Hisoka, you know that he doesn’t need to be immediately present to have a profound influence on the plot and the rest of the characters. Case and point: This chapter.  Enjoy!

**Chapter Three: The Killing Jar**

Not far from the towering marvel that was Heaven’s Arena, nestled tightly in an ancient, forgotten part of the city, was the Tanzo District.  Here, the shimmering skyscrapers of the modern metropolis sliced like knives through the patches of grey sky that hung over the arched, black tar roof tops, taut laundry lines, and stagnant air.  On rainy days such as this one, shadows stretched past their boundaries, seemingly enveloping the entire area in a fog of darkness. People here were pallid and weary from lack of sunlight; they fluttered to and fro like moths at twilight, only emerging briefly before vanishing again through a doorway or down a narrow alley.  Those that wandered in from the outside were regarded with suspicion, as Rhea quickly discovered when she arrived and began searching for someone named Li Wenxin. 

The novice reporter had been searching ceaselessly for the man Hisoka had mentioned for two days, to no avail.  An internet search had brought up no information. There was no man registered under that name at any of the city’s public facilities.  She was beginning to wonder if the magician had sent her after a person that didn’t exist. 

Still, Rhea absolutely refused to give up.  

The young woman shuddered against the thin fabric of her coat as she hopped over puddles and navigated the narrow corridors and crooked, sagging structures in search of someone who would speak to her.  Chilled, fresh rain water dotted droplets onto her hair, slipped down her neck, and seeped into the collar of her shirt. She shivered, plunged her hands deep into her pockets, and tried to keep from digging her nails too deeply into the flesh of her palms.  The cold of the morning sunk straight through her skin and settled into her bones. Her hands hurt - ever since the interview with Hisoka, she hadn’t been able to contain her stress through simple breathing exercises. Only biting her knuckles and bleeding could alleviate the anxiety that crept up on her in her most doubtful moments.   

_ Damn him, _ she thought bitterly. A flash of Hisoka’s painted face emerged from the swirling maelstrom of thoughts inside her head.   _ If this is all a trick, I swear... _

The young woman paused in her thought.  She’d swear, all right...but what could she  _ do _ ?  Hisoka was by all accounts an intensely dangerous person.  If her quest to find Li Wenxin didn’t pan out, what would her next move be?  Rhea’s mind pondered the death of her predecessor - the man that her boss, Derks Beck, said Hisoka had likely killed.  After having met the man herself, she no longer doubted the possibility, and attempting to reconnect with the clownish Heaven’s Arena combatant could spell out a similar fate for her.  She still vividly remembered the sinking, creeping feeling that had struck her when Hisoka had gazed sharply back at her just before leaving the interview two days ago. His parting words bounced around in the back of her skull even now, haunting her:  “I’m afraid that nothing you could offer would interest me.”

The memory made her shudder in fear, but it also ignited a small flicker of anger within her, and she frowned against the mist of rain.

How dare he?

Hisoka was obviously perceptive, extremely frightening, and almost certainly deadly, but that didn’t make him fit to judge her and determine her worth as an individual.  No one had that right. Rhea felt her throat tighten as the memory of his words played over and over in her head like a reel of film. Hisoka didn’t  _ know _ her.  He knew nothing of her personal life, her personality...or her past.

Her past. The young woman halted mid-step, her foot plunging into a deep puddle.  She could feel the cold oozing into her second-hand boots. A slinking anxiety crept into her stomach, and she suddenly felt the intense urge to bite one of her knuckles again as a distraction.  But she stopped herself. 

_ Don’t think about it,  _ she finally concluded.   _ Focus.  Breathe.  _

Rhea quickly brushed away the unpleasant thoughts that clouded her mind from today’s purpose, but she mused on the Heaven’s Arena competitor’s pointed words for one last moment.  The important thing to remember was that Hisoka couldn’t possibly  _ know _ how interesting or uninteresting she was.  

But that didn’t make his remark hurt any less.  

What he had told her was intentionally cruel, but it only added to Rhea’s fiery determination to finish the job - and prove him wrong.

She continued to inwardly curse the magician as she walked and wandered, occasionally cornering and questioning the wide-eyed locals when they dared to step out of the darkness and into the streets.  She was proud that her determination overtook her nervousness. It made her feel accomplished, and it turned out to be doubly rewarding: Though it took her over two hours and cost her quite a bit of money - she discovered early on that cash made even the most wary citizen’s tongue a little looser - she was finally able to gather enough information to piece together an address.  

Not long after that, Rhea was standing in front of the door that she strongly suspected belonged to Li Wenxin. If it was his home, it was not very well kept. The door’s color must have been red at one point in it’s history, but time and neglect had chipped off nearly every trace of color until only a few flakes survived.  One small, dusty window framed with dingy curtains looked out into the street. The journalist noted the still-muddy footprints on the front steps. Whoever lived here had been out and about this morning, but had returned recently. Rhea only hoped that person was Li Wenxin - and that he was willing to speak with her about Hisoka.  The sinister smile of the Heaven’s Arena competitor once again flickered in her head. Goosebumps prickled her skin, but this time not because of the cold. After a moment of hesitation, she reached out a hand and gently rapped on the door. And waited. 

No answer. 

Rhea felt another unpleasant grimace crease her face.  A tightly bound, barbed ball of anxiety began to form inside her stomach.  She reached forward and knocked again, her pale, scabby knuckles rapping on the worn wood.  

Another minute passed, with no response.  Her heart began to flutter. 

_ One last knock, _ she decided.  

The young woman rapped a little louder this time, and from the corner of her eye she registered a tiny flicker of movement from the inside of the home.  One of the threadbare curtains on the inside of the window swayed to the side ever so slightly. Rhea thought she caught a glimpse of a hand retreating back into the darkness inside, but then the fabric fell flat and still.  

Someone  _ was _ inside.  Her heartbeat pounded like drums against her ribcage.  The prickly feeling of panic crept up her throat. 

_ Please, please...let it be him... _ she prayed silently.   _ Let him be willing to tell me something...anything… _

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Rhea heard the satisfying click of a lock unlatching from the inside, and the door swung open slowly.  A man’s head peeked out and peered at her. He wore large, owl-eyed glasses, an unflattering bowl-cut, and a five o’clock shadow. His dark, shadowy eyes surveyed the young woman in front of him.  

“Yes?” he asked warily, flicking his gaze up to meet hers.  

Rhea felt an invisible hand grip her throat, threatening to silence her before she had the chance to speak.  She forced the words out, feeling unwelcome and awkward. 

“A-are you Li Wenxin?” she queried hopefully.  

The man blinked rapidly when she spoke the name.  “Uh, that’s me,” he remarked, seemingly surprised.  Then, after a hesitant moment, his voice adopted an overtly friendly tone.  “Would you like to come in?”

Rhea’s pulse quickened again.  She was hoping to convince the man to come with her to a public place to meet, but her enormous sense of excitement quickly drowned out her usual sense of cautiousness. This  _ was _ the man - the one Hisoka had sent her to find.  She had done it, and she wasn’t about to ruin her chances now by demanding that the man leave to another location.  He was obviously shy, and he might refuse. The journalist had to do whatever it took to get him to reveal something -  _ anything _ \- about the mysterious magician.  

“Of course,” she answered, a genuinely grateful smile gracing her features.  “Thank you so much.”

The man stepped back and the door swung wider, allowing the young woman entrance into a dimly lit, musty corridor.  It looked a little like her own tiny apartment, but obviously in a different part of the city, and nowhere near as clean.  There seemed to be a coating of dust that clung to everything, and she could see the tiny, floating specks circling in the air through the dingy, grey light coming through the window.  She was a little repulsed by the state of the place, but not surprised. Any acquaintance of Hisoka’s had to be an offbeat, strange character - of that much she was certain. After another moment of quick observation, Rhea turned back towards her host, feeling a bit of relief beginning to leak into her veins.  

“I must admit, Mr. Wenxin, you are a hard man to find,” she confessed with a sigh.  “I spent the last two days trying to track you down.”

The bespectacled man watched her closely as he shut the door and locked it once more with a loud “click.”  His eyes were huge behind his thick glasses, and his pupils dark. No light seemed to pierce them. She noticed that he didn’t look her directly in the eye.  

“And you are?” he inquired expectantly, ignoring her earlier remark.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she hastily apologized. “I’m Rhea Satto, from the  _ Republic Daily _ .  I was hoping to speak to you.” 

Rhea produced her three-days-old press pass from her purse and held it out to Wenxin.  He took it in both hands and examined it closely, turning it this way and that, as if he were looking for some kind of hidden message on the card.  The reporter waited patiently, taking in the rest of her host: Wenxin was small for a man, but beneath the folds of his clothes Rhea could see small, sinewy muscles that at the very least gave the illusion of strength. He had clearly been in the middle of eating something when she had knocked - his plain white shirt was stained with a few blobs of something yellowish-orange. He had on wrinkled pajama pants with no shoes.  The man looked just as unkempt as his house. When he noticed her watching him he quickly thrust the press pass back into her waiting palm.

“What does a big-shot newspaper like the  _ Republic Daily _ want to speak to me about?” he asked, his expression bashful, his eyes darting to and fro.  “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

Rhea attempted a lighthearted laugh. “A competitor at Heaven’s Arena sent me to find you.”  She hesitated slightly before adding: “He said that you might be willing to tell me about him.”

“Heaven’s Arena?”  Wenxin clarified, scratching his head and shifting his feet nervously. “Doesn’t ring a bell…”

Rhea’s smile vanished and was replaced with a frown.  Surely if this man knew Hisoka, he knew about Heaven’s Arena as well?  It was the most recognizable landmark in the city, and famous the world over.  

“A man called Hisoka gave me your name,” she explained, doubtfulness beginning to grow inside her head.  “You...you do you know him, don’t you?”

The man pursed his lips in thought, and suddenly Rhea’s hopes took a nose dive.  What if Wenxin didn’t know Hisoka at all? What if it was all a ruse - a cruel trick to waste her time?  Another flare of heated anger stirred within her chest at the thought, but she waited eagerly for her host’s response.  

“Hm…” he finally murmured, nodding.  “I feel like I  _ might  _ have heard the name before.  Yes, why don’t you come into my study and I can tell you what I know?”

Rhea’s hopes swept back up into her heart.  “Oh, thank you,” she gushed, enormously relieved.  “I’d love that.”

Wenxin ushered her down the dusty corridor, past the single, dirty window, and into a small, square, and windowless room.  The only pieces of furniture were a wooden desk and chair, propped up in the corner and piled high with papers and other various objects.  But when her host reached over and flicked the light switch, a bright bulb in the ceiling suddenly illuminated the space from corner to corner with a golden glow.  Rhea gasped in awe at the sight that greeted her. 

Nearly every square inch of the walls were absolutely covered with various frames and shadowboxes - and within each one a brightly-colored butterfly was expertly posed and pinned.  Unlike the rest of the apartment, each of the frames was completely free of dust or dirt, so the colors shown beautifully. Rhea gawked at the splendid sight - there were hundreds of the luminous little creatures adorning the tiny space.  She paused in the center of the room and turned around and around again, gazing at each insect inside its gold, beveled frame. It was gorgeous. 

“My collection,” Wenxin explained, smiling fondly, and looking at her directly for the first time.  “It’s my pride and joy.”

Rhea smiled back at him, delighted.  “They’re wonderful. Did you catch them all yourself?”

“Yes…I adore them.  They are so small and so frail.  They’re like nature’s most delicate little jewels,” he explained, his eyes darting away for a moment, but then settling back on her again.  

He seemed to be growing more comfortable with her presence.  Rhea’s hope shone even brighter than the butterflies on the walls.  Perhaps, if she engaged him in conversation about his interests now, he’d be more willing to discuss more about Hisoka later.   

_ Something for something. _

And so, the novice reporter allowed her eyes to wander freely and explore the massive collection.  She marveled until she caught sight of a small, bright pink and red variety of butterfly in a frame that hung not on the wall, but which sat on the desk in the corner, next to the piles of papers.  She stepped closer, glancing back towards Wenxin as she did. He nodded, granting silent permission for her to gently pick up the frame and examine the specimen more closely. 

“That’s a Hemotropic Butterfly,” he told her, stepping nearer from behind. “They’re my favourite.”

Rhea was fascinated.  “Really? Why?”

“They’re exceptionally rare—they only live on a few sub-tropical islands.” Wenxin paused for a moment before adding: “And they’re attracted to the scent of blood, so they’re very unique as well.  No other species is like them.”

Rhea balanced the frame that held the butterfly gently between her palms.  The little creature was clearly dead, but it was preserved so well that it seemed it might burst back to life at any second and flutter off the glass into the air.

“They are lovely,” she exclaimed, carefully setting the Hemotropic Butterfly back down on the desk and stepping away to look closer at several other varieties on the opposite wall.  Wenxin’s owl-like eyes alertly watched her every move, but he continued to smile as she admired his collection. 

“How do you catch them all?”  Rhea asked inquisitively. 

Wenxin’s voice floated in from behind her.  “Most of the time I try to only collect the ones that have already died...” His voice trailed off momentarily, but after a short silence, he continued. “But every once in a while I find a live specimen that is so delicate… _ so _ beautiful …and I simply  _ cannot _ stop myself.”

Rhea hesitated with her next question, but she was too curious not to ask.

“So if you catch them alive…how…how do you kill them?”  

“I use something called a killing jar – a glass jar with chemical-soaked cloth inside it.  The chemicals have a sweet smell to relax the insects inside, but once there, they asphyxiate.”

Rhea listened and felt twinge of pity for the numerous butterflies that decorated the room.. “I…” she began.  “...I guess that’s humane. It doesn’t hurt the butterflies, does it?” 

She heard one of the desk drawers open and close, and Wenxin s footsteps grow closer.  “No, they don’t feel a thing,” he answered calmly. 

Rhea nodded in approval, reaching up her fingers to trace the outline of a particularly large butterfly’s graceful, metallic blue wings.  “That’s good, I suppose.”

She took a breath and became suddenly aware of a sudden sweetness that permeated the air.  It was almost too sweet - the scent felt as though it it stuck to the inside of her nose and mouth when she inhaled, like sour, sticky candy.  Wenxin’s footfalls paused behind her, and when he spoke again, his voice had changed. 

It was no longer warm and friendly.  It sounded cold, unfeeling - and  _ evil _ .    

“I’m glad you think so,” he whispered, so close she could feel his breath on her ear. 

Suddenly, Rhea realized that she’d made a colossal mistake.  

She tried to whirl around and face Wenxin, but his snake-like hand reached from behind and clamped a white, wet cloth over her mouth.  The cloth reeked of that sour and sickly smell Rhea had detected earlier. It made her suddenly woozy, and nausea bubbled to life in her stomach as she struggled to free herself and take a breath.  But Wenxin, despite his size, was stronger than he appeared. His hand over her face stayed put, while his other reached around, gripped her wrists, and twisted her arms painfully behind her back. Rhea attempted to scream, but the sound was muffled by the moistened cloth covering her lips.  She was forced to take in a breath, filling her lungs with the poison. She watched with wide, horrified eyes as the chemical took effect and the colorful wall full of butterfly carcasses suddenly came to life. Their bright wings began to flutter wildly, colors shifting, shapes distorting - she was hallucinating, asphyxiating, choking.     

A red-hot knife of realization and terror stabbed into her. 

_ Just like the butterflies in the killing jar.. _ .she realized.

Her panic leaping to exponential levels, Rhea frantically attempted again to tear herself from Wenxin’s grasp.  She only managed to free one arm. Her vision grew more blurry with every breath, but she waved her free hand wildly in search of something - anything - that she could use to liberate herself from the clutches of her attacker.  Her fingers closed around nothing but air. She felt another terrified scream rise in her throat, but once again the sound was stymied by the cloth closed around her lips. Wenxin grunted excitedly as she fought him, then pushed her forward and rammed her body into the side of the desk, using his weight to press her down while keeping the poison cloth clamped on her face.  Rhea’s vision grew darker still and her limbs began to feel as if they were filled with lead. The young woman’s frail body sank down under Wenxin’s own, pinning her there.

There seemed to be no chance of escape.  Rhea was helpless, weakened, and moaning in anguish.  She felt her captor’s chest shudder against her back as he laughed at her pitiful attempts to cry out for help.  

“Now, now...” he chuckled calmly.  “What an interesting day this has turned out to be!”

The man paused, as if waiting for response from his victim, but Rhea closed up her mouth and refused to breath in any more of the poison.  She made no sound and was still, fighting the frantic emotions that were blooming to life inside her. She wouldn’t breathe - no, she couldn’t breathe.  She was trapped. 

Wenxin continued gleefully.  “I’m not sure who this Hisoka person is, but whoever he is, I’ll have to thank him if I ever actually meet him.  Usually I have to go out hunting to find my next girl, but his is the first time one of them has come to me willingly!  You must be pretty surprised.”

Rhea listened, but did not move. So Wenxin never knew Hisoka?  Then her initial suspicions were correct. She cursed the magician’s name again, her panic intensified, and her lungs burned, thirsty for oxygen, but she did not take a breath.  

“You’ll make a wonderful addition to my  _ other _ collection,” her attacker went on, relishing each moment now that he believed he had his victim under control.  “Don’t worry - I’ll show it to you before...well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you what happens after that. You’ll struggle even more.”

Rhea tried not the whimper in fear as Wenxin leaned forward, pressing his body against hers and whispering suggestively into her ear.  

“If you’re a good girl, I’ll make it quick - I promise.  You won’t feel much, and then you’ll be a part of my collection: Beautiful forever, just like my butterflies here,” he explained with a sinister smile. “But if you’re bad…”

She couldn’t hold it in any longer - her fears were too all-consuming, too overwhelming.  Another scream tore itself out of girl’s throat and was muffled by the chemical-soaked cloth. Hot tears welled behind her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. Wenxin’s weight and the pressure building inside her lungs forced the young, helpless woman to take several, quick and shallow breaths, poisoning her body with another dose of chemical fumes. Rhea understood now; her attacker had made his intentions all too clear.

_ He’s a killer,  _ she realized, even more horrified than before.   _ Hisoka sent me to a murderer.  On. Purpose. _

The thought, as ridiculous and morbid as it was, was undeniable - and as she understood this, Rhea felt something inside of her break.  Wenxin might be intending to kill her, and her own naivety had brought her here, but this entire terrifying mess was  _ Hisoka’s _ doing.  

The thought consumed her.  It chewed her up from the inside, and suddenly, a blazing torrent of rage burst from some unknown part of herself and flooded Rhea’s veins.  It filled her blood with tiny flecks of fire and metal, replacing her sense of helplessness and every other weak emotion that was tormenting her.  Panic crumbled in the face of her anger, and even as her would-be killer stood breathing heavily over her, she swore a silent vow to herself. 

_ I will  _ _ not _ _ die here. _

Rhea’s free hand, which had settled limply at her side, slowly began to crawl across the wooden surface of the desk.  Her numbed fingers stretched out like antennae, blindly feeling for anything that could be used as a tool to free herself.   Eventually her fingers found a square, solid object - the frame encasing the Hemotropic Butterfly specimen that Wenxin had shown her just moments before.  She wound her digits around it tightly, concentrating all the strength she had left into her arm, willing it to move. Her attacker only had a second to notice what she was doing.

“Hey--” he grunted angrily, before Rhea swung back her arm and the frame smacked him over the head with a solid crack.    

She heard the sharp tinkling sound of breaking glass scattering across the floor, and felt the repulsive weight of Wenxin’s body slid off her small frame.  The hand that held the poison-soaked cloth to her mouth released it’s hold on her face as her attacker groaned and fell to the ground with a thud. Rhea tried to lift herself off the surface of the desk, but the chemical had dulled her senses.  Her limbs felt like phantoms of themselves, her was body a concrete block, and her vision swam in front of her. With much effort, she managed to rise up off the desk’s surface and lean her body against the nearest wall, breathing hard from her exertion.  In front of her, Wenxin lay facedown. A small spot of crimson blood stained the floor directly under his head, and next to him, the fragile remains of the butterfly lay, its bright wings in pieces. 

_ I’ve got to...call help,  _ Rhea thought groggily. 

The journalist glanced dazedly around the room, searching for her purse.  Her work-issued cell phone was in there. Derks Beck had firmly ordered her not to use it for any other purpose than journalistic business, but an emergency like this had to be an exception.  After a moment she spotted the bag. It had slipped from her arm and fallen under the desk as she and Wenxin had struggled. As hurriedly as she could, she reached for the blurry-purse shaped object on the floor, her fingers searching again.  She stretched too far and slumped over, whining in pain as her ribs cracked on the side of the desk. The young woman groaned and sank down to the floor, but as she did her hand reached the bag and slid inside.

That’s when Wenxin’s still body began to move again.  He moaned and lifted his head, his owl-eyed glasses askew.  Her sudden burst of rage rapidly shriveled as he arose, and Rhea watched with a wide, horrified stare as he turned towards her.  A thin rivulet of blood ran into his vengeful, angry eyes. He looked like a crazed, wild creature - inhuman. 

“You  _ bitch _ ,” he spat out hatefully. “I’ll make you sorry.”

He lurched forward unsteadily, and Rhea noticed a small glint near his waist.  Her gaze shifted down his wiry frame and gradually focused on a long, thin, but undeniably sharp shard of broken glass in his left hand.  Wenxin’s eyes grew huge and round behind his glasses, crazed with rage and bloodlust. He raised the jagged-edge weapon and took another step towards her, slashing back and forth wildly.

Rhea shrieked and removed her hand from her bag, attempting to lift her arms to shield her face, but the drug in her system was still making her movements sluggish.  The next thing she knew, a hot slit was cut across her cheek, just underneath her right eye. Blood spilled from the gash and scarlet stained the top of her jacket and shirt.  Another ragged scream tore itself from her lips. 

Wenxin swung the razor-sharp glass again, but this time Rhea dodged the blow by ducking her head.  The weapon lodged itself firmly into the wall, and her attacker’s hand sliced open on the glass’s opposite edge and cursed loudly.  Instead of attempting to retrieve the shard to slash at her again, he stumbled clumsily to his knees and tried to slip his hands around her neck.  But the blood spilling from their wounds made his grip slippery and Rhea was able to shake him off and plunge her right hand into her purse again. Her fingers frantically probed the inside of her bag for her phone, but instead her digits closed around another object - long, thin, and pointed: A pen.  

Rhea’s fearful eyes grew round as she turned back to face her assailant.  Wenxin’s bloody hands stretched towards her neck again, his lips twisted into a vicious, hungry snarl.  Panic seized her again, but she couldn’t afford to wait. She had to do something -  _ anything  _ \- to save herself.  

The young woman felt her fingers close deliberately around the pen and yank it out of the bag...just as her crazed attacker’s hands twisted around her throat and began to squeeze.  

“You goddamned bitch,” he hissed again.  “You’ll scream. I’ll make you  _ squeal _ .”

The pen closed tightly in her fist, Rhea stared back into his wild, reddened eyes, an unexpected defiance stirring in her heart.  It gave her a sudden strength. She raised her makeshift weapon in front of Wenxin’s face, determined not to be his victim any longer.  

“No,” she gasped breathlessly, “you  _ won’t _ .”

And then she plunged the pointed end of the pen forward and deep into Wenxin’s left eye.  It burst like a cherry tomato being stuck with a skewer: Wet, runny, and just as red. 

Her would-be killer’s horrific scream of pain tore through the air, reverberating in the small space and causing the frames full of brightened butterflies to shudder on the walls.  He vaulted backwards off of her and clasped his bleeding face in both of his hands, writhing on the ground just feet away in agony. Rhea was frozen on the ground near the desk, her eyes still partially masked and her body weakened by the poison coursing through her system.  Her vision dimmed and darkened as she gazed up at the ceiling, hardly believing what she’d just done. Her attacker’s anguished cries gradually reduced to pain-filled moans, but he didn’t move, and eventually he grew altogether quiet. 

After a few minutes of silence, Rhea’s sudden strength had all but disappeared, and she was struck with a fresh attack of anxiety.  She had to struggle with her frantic thoughts just to remember her phone. The young reporter turned painfully over and dug her hand back into her purse, which was still crumpled underneath the desk.  After a few seconds of shuffling her fingers, she find the object she was searching for and withdrew it from the bag. She was exhausted and traumatized, so even the small, flat phone in her hand felt as heavy as a lead weight.  The young woman hardly had the strength to lift it to her face so she could see the screen. But with her vision waning and her fingers growing increasingly clumsy, all she could manage to do was press the redial button before she slumped over for good.  

She was vaguely aware of a ringtone echoing, but it sounded very, very far away.  Rhea’s sight began to shrink before her, and she knew her body was finally giving in to the drugs Wenxin had forced on her.  Then she heard a familiar voice - a stern male voice - coming from the phone. 

“Hello?  Miss Satto?”  It was the voice of her boss, Derks Beck.  He sounded annoyed. “Hello?”

Rhea fought to keep ahold of her consciousness.  Her lips felt numb. “Mr. Beck...please…” she gradually forced out.  Her voice was weak, no more than a flutter of sound. 

The voice on the other line sounded slightly more concerned now.  “What’s going on, Miss Satto?”

“Attacked...help…” the injured journalist breathed.  She wasn’t even able to form complete sentences any longer.  “Tanzo...District…”

“Tanzo?!” Beck sounded truly alarmed now.  “What were you doing there? Are you hurt? Miss Satto?  Are you hurt?!”

But Rhea could no longer answer.  The phone dropped from her hand and clanked loudly against the floor, and her head hung limply down to her chest.  Her world had shrunk into a dark oblivion beyond perception, and no matter how loudly Beck shouted from the receiver, she was beyond reach.  

But before she floated away completely, the painted face of a certain magician flashed through her foggy mind once more.  This was all his fault - a meticulous, cruel, and ridiculous plan he set into motion by sending her here. So just before she slipped into the murky waters of unconsciousness, Rhea cursed his name a final time.  

_ Hisoka. _

...

**Additional Author’s Notes:** Another chapter done!  How’s that for a cliffhanger?  

Hisoka fans, I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to fit any scenes with him in this chapter!  I tried to add another part at the end, but it just just didn’t feel right! There will be plenty of our favorite lovable psychopath in future chapters; I just have a very deliberate method for building and towards the next confrontation Hisoka and Rhea will share.  Well, at the very least I had Rhea thinking plenty about him and the nasty trick he played. What do you think of his devious ways? 


	4. Ruin and Resolve

**Author's Note:** I decided to get my act together and actually update this thing within a couple of weeks. I'm sorry to say that this behavior is really atypical for me, so I can't promise bi-weekly updates regularly. I can't even promise monthly updates, honestly. A lot of times my muse holds my motivation hostage for ransom, which usually takes the form of lots of chocolate, sleep, and laziness. But I'll do my best to please my readers! Thank you guys for the comments (they are very nice, thank you thank you thank you!) and the kudos! Your feedback and encouragement is much appreciated by this humble fanfiction author. Please enjoy chapter 4!

* * *

 

  **Chapter Four: Ruin and Resolve**

 

_White walls._

_White lab coats._

_White sheets stained with red._

_A little girl laid in one of the beds, her body partially swathed in bandages.  Alongside her was another bed, and under the linens there was a figure so thickly wrapped in gauze that it was hard to tell it was human at all.  Only the small area around the person’s mouth was uncovered._

_The child turned her head and winced.  Even the tiniest movements were painful._

_“Mama?”_

_Labored breathing from the other bed.  “Yes, baby, I’m still here.”_

_“Does it hurt?”_

_A long pause.  More labored breath.  Then, an answer: “Only a little bit, baby.”_

_The girl frowned.  She could sense the lie when she heard it.  She turned her head back and stared up at the white-washed ceiling, and before long she felt the familiar trickle of tears escaping from the corners of her eyes.  The pillow behind her head grew wet._

_“Mama?” she said again.  Her whole body trembled, which made it hurt even more._

_“Yes, baby?”_

_The voice coming from the other bed sounded weaker than before.  Filled with pain._

_“I’m sorry.  It was my fault,” the girl finally whimpered through her tears._

_The silence that stretched between the beds grew thick and heavy, but still the little girl waited with bated breath for a response that would release her from her crushing guilt.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, her mother spoke again._

_“I forgive you, Rhea.”_

_…_

She awoke violently.  

The young woman jolted upward rapidly from her sleep, gasping and clawing with her hands as if she were digging her way out of a grave.  An anguished whimper welled up into her throat, but at the last moment she was able to clamp her hands over her mouth and keep the sound from escaping. Her thoughts came to her in short, uncontrolled bursts.

 _Just a dream,_ Rhea realized.   _Another memory._  

The night terrors were nothing new, but they never ceased to frighten and disorient her.  Her body flushed with heat, yet her skin felt like ice. She half-sobbed, half-panted into her palms, her breaths hitching painfully in her chest and her pulse pounding a frantic rhythm in her head. Wisps of hair clung to her forehead and hung into her eyes, soaked with cold sweat.  The sheets and mattress below her were damp too. She was a mess, and likely to remain that way until she got a hold on her turbulent emotions.

 _Right,_ she thought, blinking and shivering.  Darkness surrounded her. _Where...where am I?_   

For a moment, Rhea had no idea, and in a sudden panic she whipped her head back and forth, searching for something she knew  All her straining eyes could register was the glowing, white outline of a closed door to her left, and a small window straight ahead.  Between the billowing curtains, she glimpsed the dimming light of sunset, the long, thin shadows stretching from the horizon, and the distinctive, towering silhouette of Heaven’s Arena in the distance.  She stared wide-eyed at the rectangle of waning light, attempting feebly to track her memories and fend off the feeling of helplessness. Rhea sucked in another desperate breath. The sharp, pungent odor of antiseptic and the tangy, metallic smell of blood clung to the inside of her mouth, sparked a glimmer of clarity in her head, and suddenly she knew where she was.    

She was in a hospital.  Like in her dream.

 _A hospital,_ she realized, recalling her vivid nightmare. _Was it...was it really a dream?_

She glanced towards the left, at the bed next to hers.  Her eyes were adjusting to the dark, and she could see that it the linens lay crisp and flat along the mattress.  It was empty.

_So, it’s not a dream.  I’m really in a hospital._

Rhea breathed the air unsteadily in an effort to quell her discomfort.  The air smelled like chemical cleaners and death, and with every breath she tried not to gag on the bitter taste.  She detested hospitals; they reminded her of her mother, of the months they both spent languishing in whitewashed rooms filled with stagnant air, and of her own colossal guilt.  Again, she brushed the unpleasant thoughts away. Right now, she had to concentrate on what was going on at this moment, not wallow in the sadness of her past.

The girl glanced down at herself.  Her hands were swathed in bandages, her legs wrapped tightly in white sheets. She reached up a shaky hand and pressed it against her cheek underneath her right eye.  The slightly rough texture of a bandage slid under her fingertips, and Rhea sensed the soreness of the wound it covered.

The memories of the previous day began to trickle in, slowly at first--then faster and faster--until the visions of the previous day slipped together like the pieces of a puzzle inside her skull:  The curved shard of glass slicing her face open. Walls filled with the bright corpses of butterflies. Wenxin’s shy, distance gaze morphing into a hateful, cold-blooded glare. And lastly, the painted face of the man who’d sent her into his clutches.

Rhea gasped.  She really, really did not want to think about that--about _him_.  

Her hand slid up from her injured cheek to her forehead.  Her skin felt like ice, but her pulse pounded hotly inside her skull.  Anxiety was slowly trickling back into her stomach, so she glanced toward the window again.  The young woman sucked in more chemical-laced air, attempting to breathe deeply.

 _Breathe,_ she coached herself. _Focus._

The ritual gradually allowed her memories of the previous day to sink in, and soon the frantic fluttering of her heart began to calm.  It was not meant to last, however, for just then a hand slid through the door and along the wall in her room, flipping the lightswitch with a loud ‘click.’

A harsh light suddenly flooded the space, and Rhea raised a bandaged hand across her eyes and blinked uncomfortably for a few moments as her eyes attempted to adjust to the brightness.  The young woman couldn’t see her visitor just yet, but she could hear them: Heavy footsteps plodded purposefully towards her, and suddenly she registered the faint stench of cigarette smoke.

That--and a familiar, stern voice calling her name.  

“Satto! Miss Satto! There you are!”

It was Derks Beck--her surly and perpetually angry-looking boss.  Rhea felt her stomach heave upward into her throat as he lumbered forward.  She’d almost completely forgotten that she had been employed.

“Do you realize the hell I’ve been through since this morning?  Have you seen how merciless the media is in this town? There’s already a crowd of reporters gathering outside.  What if another paper had gotten to you first?” the man ranted, his swarthy jowls quivering excitedly as he spoke.  “You’re still my employee, so help me God!”

Rhea was aghast.  “Mr. Beck...Sir...I...I didn’t--”

“Spare me any excuses, Miss Satto!”

The Editor-in-Chief paused his fervent tirade just long enough to seize a chair that had previously sat unused against the wall and drag it to her bedside  His heavy-set body dropped into it with a plop, and he began to dig around in his pockets. The young woman watched him questioningly as he yanked out a half-crushed box of cigarettes and a silver-plated lighter, Seemingly without regard for the hospital’s regulations against such activity, the man flicked the lighter, igniting a single golden flame.  

“We have much to discuss,” Mr. Beck said, his tone serious.

He paused again to stick one end of the cigarette in his mouth, and the other into the flame.  Rhea watched the small flicker of heat with widened, fearful eyes, until the man snapped the top of the lighter shut and refocused his attentions on her.

“I’ve been working for hours to keep the bloodsuckers from other papers from getting your information from us,” he said after a moment.  The rough, gruff, and slightly threatening tone of his voice had lessened slightly. “The bastards at the _Capitol Reporter_ really wanted to get their grubby, tabloid hands on you, so I called them all up to tell them go straight to hell--but they swore they hadn’t spoken to you.”

The young woman cringed under his intense gaze. An invisible hand had leapt up from her stomach and squeezed her throat shut, rendering her unable to respond. Her employer continued to glower at her and sucked on his cigarette with fat, wet lips before carrying on.  

“Is what they told me true?  You didn’t speak with anyone from the press?” Mr. Beck asked, narrowing his bushy, black eyebrows at her.  “And don’t lie to me, Satto.”

The rookie journalist suddenly jolted out of her stupor and shook her head firmly.  

“I...I just woke up,” she explained earnestly.  “I haven’t talked to anyone besides you.”

“Well, that’s a welcome relief,” the man sighed, a puff of smoke escaping into the air along with his words.  “Try and keep it that way. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. ”

Mr. Beck leaned back in his seat, wrapped his lips firmly around his cigarette, and glared at her expectantly, but Rhea’s throat had clenched shut again and a silent stare was all she could give him.  Eventually, her boss rolled his eyes impatiently.

“You _do_ know why I came, don’t you?” he asked, as though the reason should be clear.    

Rhea twisted her gauze-covered fingers into the fabric of the bedsheets. Another painful knot of anxiety was beginning to form in her stomach, and she did her best to answer him without a frightened tremble in her voice.  

“You’re…” she struggled to speak the words forming on her tongue, for they were filled with the stinging pain of failure.  “...you’re here to fire me…?”

Of course, she prayed that wasn’t the case. The thought of losing her job--the one job she’d dreamed of for three years--was utterly devastating.  But she had failed to complete her first assignment, she had nearly gotten herself killed while on the job, and it was now plainly obvious that she was a liability to the business Mr. Beck worked hard to maintain.  She couldn’t think of another possible outcome.

But the Editor-in-Chief didn’t react to her guess in the way she expected.  His huge eyebrows crinkled in the middle of his forehead and he inhaled so quickly in surprise that he nearly swallowed his cigarette.   

“Fired?” he echoed.  “Fire _you_?”  

Then, Mr. Beck suddenly and unexpectedly chuckled.  It was a strange, whistling, wheezy sound, likely due from his smoking habit. Rhea dared to gawk open-mouthed at him through a thin veil of her mousy hair; whatever humor her boss found in this situation was completely lost on her.

“No way in hell am I cutting loose the girl who unearthed the biggest news story this city’s had in years!” the Editor-in-Chief exclaimed loudly, clearly amused. “Christ, I just spent all afternoon keeping all the other media sharks away!”

He laughed again, while the the young woman in the bed beside him blinked silently, baffled completely at the news.  Eventually, though, Rhea found her voice.

“I’m sorry, Sir.  I don’t understand.”

“Come now, Miss Satto, you can’t possibly be this dense!  The Butterfly Killer case is a media sensation--and _you_ are the star of the show,” Mr. Beck exclaimed with gusto.  “So congratulations are in order: You’re going to become a full-fledged reporter.  In fact, I’m redrafting your contract so you can write about the trial full time--of course, only for our paper and its affiliates.  If people want to read about this case, they have to do so through _Republic Daily_.”

Rhea’s mind caught on a single word.  “The--the _trial_?”

“Wenxin’s trial, of course!”

The journalist’s blood chilled.  “You mean...he’s still alive?”

Mr. Beck gave her a sharp glance.  “Of course. He’s got one less eye, thanks to you, but he’s still kicking. Good thing too--serial killers make for good newspaper sales, but they’re so rarely captured alive that you almost never get to cover a trial. You’ll be the star witness, of course.”

Rhea felt the icy tendrils of fear snake through her veins and settle into her bones.  She tried to imagine herself on the witness stand, the media cameras, hundreds of people, the eyes on an entire city--all of that would be fixed on her.  She fought the urge to clamp down on one of her knuckles to calm herself. Finally, the young reporter glanced over at her boss, her eyes wide..

Rhea’s vision grew spotty and her her mind reeled inside her skull as she tried to comprehend what her boss was telling her. “So…I’m not being fired…I’m being _promoted_?”

“Of course! I’ll send over a car to bring to you my office tomorrow morning,” the Editor-in-Chief responded, more animated than she’d ever seen him. “And after this is over, you’ll never have to work another grunt job again, Miss Satto.  You’ll be able to do whatever you want, write whatever you want, and everyone will be scrambling to read it--and to do that, they’ll have to purchase _my_ paper.  We’re going to make a killing off of this.”

The young woman inhaled a sharp breath at the distasteful comment, but Mr. Beck didn’t seem to take notice.  So _that_ was it.  He was keeping her around because her perilous mishap had become another lucrative opportunity of his.  One part of her was relieved - even glad - because this would mean she’d have a career instead of a temporary job.  Another side of her was filled with disgust at his eagerness to capitalize on her traumatic experience. Rhea’s gaze flicked towards her boss for a hesitant, uncomfortable moment, but then she glanced away.  Suddenly, words began to fall from her mouth, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

“Mr. Beck, with all due respect, I failed to fulfill the terms of my first contract,” she explained, feeling repused by herself, her boss, and the entire sick situation.  “I didn’t get any information on Hisoka. He refused to speak with me.”

“Who cares?  We’ll find someone else to try to squeeze information out of that clown,” Derks Beck replied, shrugging dismissively.  He then produced his wallet, pulled out a shiny, black business card, and offered it to her. After a moment, the young woman hesitantly took it between her bandaged fingers.

“This is the number of a private driver of mine,” the Editor-in-Chief continued.  “He’s very reliable, _very_ trustworthy.  Other drivers could accept bribes to spy on you, but not this one.  Call him at any time, tell him I sent you, and he’ll be there.”

The girl stared down at the card’s laminated surface.  “Um...thank you?”

“You’re a media celebrity now, and I can’t have you wandering the streets,” Mr. Beck added.  “As I said before, you have no idea how merciless the people in this city can be.”

His words struck Rhea like the sudden sting of needles on her skin.

 _I know better than most,_ she thought, turning her head away again so that her boss wouldn’t see the expression of revulsion on her face.    

A sudden, fleeting image flashed like lightning through her skull, cutting through the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions gathering there: A man with a painted face, fiery red hair, and a sly, wicked grin. She recalled his scrutinizing gaze, the calculated precision with which he moved, and the sharp-edged, hurtful words he spoke to her on the day of their interview.  He had been totally apathetic towards her, and then he had sent her off into the waiting arms of serial killer.

Rhea knew now that Hisoka had done so intentionally.   

Her anxiety and disgust suddenly shrank away, and anger swelled up to take their place.  It pulsed like a torrential ball of flame inside her chest. She gazed back at her employer with a strange mixture of anticipation, resolve, and residual fear filling her heart.  

“No.  I want to do it.  I’ll do the interviews,” she said determinedly.  

Mr. Beck sucked too harshly on his cigarette a second time, choked on the fumes he inhaled, and tumbled into a loud, violent fit of coughing.  Rhea turned back towards him and watched him apathetically, saying nothing. When her employer recovered his composure, he blinked silently at her for a few seconds, obviously baffled by her sudden candor.  

“Miss Satto...you can’t be serious,” he gasped.

“But I am.”  

“But you said he refused to talk to you before. What makes you think he’ll change his mind?”

“I don’t think his mind can be changed,” Rhea said.  She tried not to let any of her frustration seep into her gaze, but it leaked into her voice. “But I have to try.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Beck said, waving his hand dismissively into the air.  “You’ll be given a new contract tomorrow, first thing. After that, your old contract will be null and void.  Hisoka is dangerous, and I won’t risk losing another employee to his--”

“Mr. Beck,” Rhea suddenly interrupted, amazing even herself.  Her boss paused in his tirade, grimacing at her. Yet she continued, each word more surprising than the last.  “Respectfully, Sir...I wouldn’t feel right signing a new contract until I had fulfilled the requirements of my last one.”  

The young woman watched intently as her employer considered her words, opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again.  She hoped and prayed that she hadn’t offended him by cutting him off--God, what had possessed her to do that? Rhea mentally chided herself, but she’d already decided what her next move would be, and her determination was unshakable--at least for now.  Her fingers curled around the bed sheets, squeezed tightly, and she waited with bated breath for the man’s reply.

Finally, Mr. Beck tucked one of his sausage-thick fingers underneath his chin, and then finally looked up at her through his massive, black eyebrows with a sullen expression.

“Is there nothing I can say to make you reconsider, Miss Satto?” he asked.

Rhea glanced at him coldly. “No, not really.”

Mr. Beck looked at her for one more second before he rose from his chair. “Fine.  Have it your way.”

The man turned to shuffle out of the room, his heavy footsteps marking his progress towards the door.  When the young woman heard the footfalls pause, she turned her head and glanced at him through her unkempt hair once more.  Her boss lingered near the door, glancing at her, his distinct eyebrows and the corners of his mouth tugged downward in a frown.  His expression darkened a bit as she reached up, tucked her unwieldy hair behind her ear, and stared blankly back at him.

“Miss Satto, before I go, let me make one thing clear,” he began, as he plucked the remains of his cigarette from his lips, dropped it, and crushed it with his heel. “I’ll allow for the first contract you signed for me to remain in effect at your request, but you still work for _me_.  So don’t get yourself killed.”

With that, her employer shuffled out of the door and disappeared.  Rhea glared at the empty doorway with a bitter taste in her mouth.

 _Bastard,_ she thought.   _He couldn’t care less if I lived or died, as long as it sold his papers._  

But despite her boss’s woefully misguided motivation, the journalist felt as if she’d been torn down the middle.  She had, after all, fought for something she’d wanted...and she had actually _won_.  She should feel ecstatic, exhilarated, and elated.  

But that wasn’t the case.  

She was furious, more furious than she ever had been before. The sensation festered like a dripping, frothing pool of superheated metal inside her chest, and it’s intensity blotted out any other emotions that tried to take root there. Unlike her anxiety, her anger did not result in a wild impulse to dig her hands into the mattress or bit her knuckles until they bled.  No, no, she wanted to hit something. She wanted to punch someone in the teeth.

Her mouth twisted into a grimace.  But she was weak. Powerless. What could she do against this situation?  Certainly not hit someone. That wasn’t right, it wasn’t just, and it wouldn’t provide her with an answers to her many questions.

Rhea sighed in exasperation, turned her head away from the door, and glared out of the hospital room’s window.  Beyond the pane of glass, the night was growing deeper and darker, but the neon brilliance of the city was rising up to cast a multi-colored sheen across the surfaces of the nearby buildings.  In the distance, brilliantly lit and contrasting brightly against a blackened void dotted with stars, the shining, sharp outline of the Heaven’s Arena tower still stood like a massive sentinel watching over the rest of the city.  She stared with widened eyes at the structure, contemplating the events of the past few days, and what she would do next.

Somewhere in that glittering, glamourous monument to combat, Hisoka resided.  And he possessed the answers she sought.

The girl glanced down at the laminated card still in her hands.  It was crumpled now from being pressed to roughly inside her clenched palm, but the words and numbers on it were still legible. Her eyes slid over to the end table beside her bed.  Resting on its polished, sterilized surface was a phone. She stared at it for a long time, carefully weighing her choices.

 _It’s now or never._ _If I don’t do this, I might never have the courage to do it again._

The young woman lashed out her hands, seized the phone, and punched in the numbers on the card clumsily with her bandaged fingers.  As she did, Rhea felt the red-hot anger within her chest gradually cool, until the molten core of her indignation had solidified into a cold lump of steely, unshakable determination.

Li Wenxin had tried kill her. Mr. Beck was planning to capitalize on her obvious trauma.  She was stupid enough to let both happen. She reviled each man equally, and herself especially. But neither of them were truly responsible.

This entire repugnant, vile scenario had begun with just _one_ person.  

 _Hisoka did this to me,_ she averred silently to herself, _and I’m going to find out_ _why_ _._  

...

Across the city, and inside the glittering, gigantic heights of the celestial tower, a magician sulked in his apartment, his body bent over a growing house of cards. His eyes scanned the pyramid slowly, searching for weak spots within its structure, but his focus was waning.  An uncharacteristic frown crossed the Hisoka’s face and he sighed morosely.

A television droned noisily in the corner of the room, set to one of the tower’s many exclusive channels.  He’d been watching it recently in an attempt to spot prospective opponents, but even as match after match was broadcast on the screen, the magician was once again met with a heavy sense of disappointment.  

 _Nothing..._  

Hisoka grimaced before placing another card in it’s place on the top of the growing pyramid. He was growing impatient, and a prickly feeling of annoyance was slowly filling him.  It seemed like forever since he’d last felt the exhilarating thrill of slicing open someone’s neck, heard the harrowing crack of bone against bone, or basked in the scent of freshly-shed blood.  He’d grown more disciplined compared to years ago, and his tastes more refined, but his appetite for such pleasures had not lessened. If anything, it had become stronger. The magician continued to wallow in his dark musings as he gently set in place the last of his cards, completing the pyramid. He stared at the structure for a moment, before glancing disinterestedly at the television.  

Still nothing.  

 _...no fun at all._  

He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to withstand this. It’d been days since he’d encountered anything that interested him enough to distract him from his bloodlust.  He supposed that if he wanted to alleviate his more savage impulses he’d have to sign up for another fight soon.

Just then, the picture on the television flashed and the speakers blared loudly, announcing the end of today’s matches and the start of an evening news program.  A dark-haired, mustached male news anchor appeared on screen, a bright red banner over his head advertising a breaking news story. However, the magician was preoccupied with his dark thoughts, and only half-listened to what was reported.

“Tonight in the Tanzo District, one of the most heinous crimes ever seen in our city has been miraculously uncovered,” the anchor disclosed in a deep baritone.  “In a bizarre twist, the person who cracked the case was not a member of law enforcement, but a member of the news media hired only days ago--”

_Flick._

A spare playing card zinged at incredible speed from Hisoka’s hand and struck the television right between the news anchor’s eyes, causing the screen to shatter and the picture to flicker to black.  The magician regarded the now-useless device indifferently, glad to be rid of the distraction.

However, a crackling voice continued: “Not much is known about the young heroine--”

The television’s speakers still functioned, even when the picture did not. Hisoka sighed and flipped up another card as the noise droned on.

“--except that her name is--”

He readied his aim at the heart of the machine.

“--Rhea Sa--”

_Flick._

The second card struck the television, cutting off the voice for good.  

Hisoka turned away from the broken television and back to his tower of cards.  He analyzed it once more, noting how lovingly he’d placed each card, so that it might help to balance the tension of the overall structure as it grew higher and higher, until it reached its peak...and he pondered his predicament.  Perhaps he was looking in the wrong place for his next thrill. Maybe it was hidden, buried beneath the dull surface, or tucked away in an unexpected corner somewhere.

Or perhaps, instead of waiting around for the right situation to arise, he’d have to construct one himself.  

 _Like this house of cards,_ he surmised.   _And then..._ _only_ _then...I can..._

The magician reached out gently with the tip of his finger, and pressed the top of the tower forward, tilting it away from him.  Further, further, further...until the structure buckled under the added pressure and collapsed. Cards scattered from the tabletop and fluttered to the floor like flower petals.  

Hisoka shuddered with pleasure.  

The blissful sensation flooded his body, and he sighed, but it was only a small release.  It did not fully satiate him, and it would only quell his continually-mounting thirst for a short while.  

_...I’ll need to calm it eventually._

That only meant one thing would do.  Hisoka’s mouth twitched upward, and he began to rise from his seat.  

It was then that he heard the knock at the door.

…

Rhea Satto’s balled fist hung limply at her side. Her eyes were wide and full of dread.

The young woman’s formerly rock-solid resolve had endured as she’d made her way to Heaven’s Arena, up to the 222nd floor, and Hisoka’s doorstep, but the instant her knuckles made contact with the wood, a paralyzing chill swept in to take its place.  It snaked its tendrils through her veins and into her gut, and for the first time since she left the hospital, she felt true fear leak into her blood. The journalist tried to beat it back. She had to focus on confronting Hisoka, plucking the truth from his version of events, and hopefully, uncovering why he’d sent her to a killer.

That was, if he was even willing to speak with her.

 _Or,_ she added silently, _if he doesn’t try to kill me himself._

The dark notion sent another, stronger wave of terror through Rhea’s bones, but she refused to move. Instead, she sucked in a careful, measured breath, glanced downward, and peered at her her gauze-covered hands. The urge to slip one finger through her teeth and bite down was awful.  The desire to sprint back the way she came, leave Heaven’s Arena behind, and never return was equally as strong. She did neither. Instead, young woman fixed her eyes on the grainy surface of Hisoka’s door, listened for movement from the other side, and waited.

Several moments passed with no response. No sound, no movement, not even a shadow stirring from underneath the door.

Rhea’s nerves began to tighten and fray, and doubts crept into her head.  Maybe she should take this as a sign to give up her irrational, dangerous quest and leave.  But then she’d be abandoning the chance to find the answers she so desperately needed. Her mind hopped back and forth, her gaze dropped to the ground, and she didn’t know if what she felt was intense disappointment or overwhelming relief.  

Leave.  Stay. Give up.  Persevere. She didn’t know which to do.  Indecision kept her rooted to the spot on which she stood.

 _Click_.

The little, translucent hairs on Rhea’s arms and the back of her neck stood on end when she heard the hollow, metallic sound. Fear suddenly iced over every inch of her flesh, deadening her limbs and rendering them useless. When she finally found the will to glance up, she found herself staring dumbfoundedly into an open doorway.  

From within, a familiar, terrifying visage of the man she sought peered down at her.

Hisoka’s expression was neither one of surprise, displeasure, or delight.  He looked sullen, an emotion that looked foreign on his features. But as soon as he looked at her, recognition brightened his face, and he smiled in fascination.

“Ooh, I wasn’t expecting a visitor,” he exclaimed, and his voice danced with a lilting playfulness that could only belong to him. “How lovely it is to see you again...Rhea, is it?”

The dark, velvety resonance with which he spoke her name made Rhea’s skin crawl, especially because somehow, she got the sense Hisoka was trying a little too hard to make it appear that he didn’t fully remember her.  And he was making it obvious too. _Toying_ with her.  

 _He_ _knows._ _He knows what he did._

A tiny flare of anger sprung to life in her chest, chasing away the darkest and most paralyzing of her fears.  She leveled her gaze at the man, gathered her courage, and spit out what she so desperately wanted to say.

“You sent me to that psychopath on purpose.”  

The words felt like thick tar when they left her tongue--sticky and foul.  It was a relief to finally speak them aloud, but she was still afraid of Hisoka’s reaction.  Her leg muscles instinctively coiled in preparation to escape if he lunged for her, although she knew there was little chance that she’d be successful.  However, rather than seem shocked or offended by her sudden accusation, Hisoka’s expression only grew more delighted. His lips stretched across white teeth in a devilish grin.

“Of course I did,” he admitted cheerfully, without hesitation. The magician stepped back and gestured gracefully for her to enter the room.  “Won’t you come in?”

* * *

 

 **Author's Note:** Ah, here's another horrible cliffhanger for you! I'm so sorry, the cold hard truth is that I freaking LOVE writing cliffhangers. Thank you again for reading my work; I am very much appreciative! If you enjoyed this chapter, please send some kudos or send some feedback via a message or comment. Thanks again, lovely readers! 


	5. Negotiation

**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Hunter x Hunter; only my plot and my original characters belong to me. 

**Author’s Note:**  Thank you one and all for continuing to read my story! I hope you enjoy the fifth chapter - lots of Rhea / Hisoka interaction! Enjoy!

* * *

 

**Chapter Five: Negotiation**

* * *

 

“Won’t you come in?”

Hisoka’s invitation floated like a feather in the air before Rhea, unanswered.  

She was flabbergasted. The young woman had expected an aloof denial from the magician, an evil smile and a laugh, or perhaps even a door slammed violently back in her face--but not a flat-out admission of his guilt--and  _ certainly _ not a solicitation to join him inside his home.    

The quick burst of courage that had driven her here suddenly shriveled, and she did not know what to do or say in response to Hisoka’s strange request.  When they had first met just days ago in the Common Area, a simple, sharp look from him had been enough to make her skin crawl, to make her feel sick to her stomach.  What could he do to her behind a closed door? Rhea didn’t even want to think of that. She swallowed hard, and an eerie, elongated silence permeated the air between them, stretching taut like a bowstring about to snap.  The young woman found herself cowering in the darkness of Hisoka’s deepening shadow, desperately fighting against the voice screaming in her head to run, run,  _ run _ \--and trying in vain to reforge her resolve. 

_ I should tell him to go to hell and bolt, _ she thought to herself briefly, but then she reconsidered.  _  No, I’ve come this far.  I can’t go back now. I just can’t.   _

She had already surpassed the point of no return, so after another torturous moment of extreme indecision, she slung her fears aside and nodded silently in acceptance.

“Excellent,” Hisoka remarked, his eyes brightening with a faint, luminescent glimmer.  “This way, please.”

The Heaven’s Arena combatant turned on his heel and sauntered back inside, gesturing for her to follow.  Rhea felt her heart thump a final, frantic warning. Rather than ease her concerns, the Heaven’s Arena combatant’s overtly friendly exterior only compounded her suspicions. That glint in his eyes--she couldn’t place it, but it felt vaguely familiar.  It sent chills through her blood, and she hesitated to follow him. Rhea pivoted slightly and darted her eyes back down the long, curved hall. She thought about making a break for it, about running down the corridor, into the elevator, and far away from this place.  But her desire to pluck the truth from Hisoka’s version of events, uncover why he’d sent her to a killer, and understand exactly why he hadn’t turned her away a second time her kept her from fleeing. 

The girl turned back, casting a distrustful glance towards her unlikely host, her fear and frustration mingling within her, forming a strange conglomeration that weighed heavily on her consciousness.   

_ Just breathe,  _ she coached herself. _  You can to do this.    _

The young woman inhaled deeply--once, twice, three times.  Then, she dragged herself forward, beyond the threshold of the door...and hopefully, not into a trap. 

… 

Hisoka watched through the twisted corner of his eye as Rhea Satto cautiously inched her way into his dimly-lit apartment.  She moved stiffly forward, a tiny, half-broken porcelain doll being jerked between the immense force of her fear and the fierce tenacity of her own resolve.  Although he knew her, his mind strained to recall details beyond her name. The magician was not often compelled to dip his thoughts into the past to retrieve recollections of people he cared little about, but he made a small exception in this case. It did not take him long to determine that  _ this  _ Rhea Satto was different than the first.  

For one thing, she looked as though she’d been through a small war. Even in the dim light his keen eyes could see the smudged remains of make-up clinging to her pale, tight skin.  A large, blood-stained bandage was pasted to one side of her face, and wisps of loose hair had shaken loose and drifted across her eyes. He dragged his gaze downward as she entered and noted that she was clad only in boots, a hospital gown, and a threadbare jacket, which--interestingly--had a few drops of blood still dotting the collar.  Hisoka had good idea who had spilled that blood. 

_ Wenxin, _ he mused silently.    

Li Wenxin’s secret ways and sadistic nature were well-known in the small, broken circles to which Hisoka himself had once belonged. When the magician had given the young woman his name at the conclusion of their first meeting, he’d anticipated two possible outcomes:  The first was that she would give up her quest, too frightened to continue. The second was that she would manage to track Wenxin down in the Tanzo District, be lured into his home, and fall victim to his murderous desires.  

But this girl had defied  _ both _ of Hisoka’s expectations.  She had not given up, she had survived, and once more--she had returned to confront him.  Hisoka narrowed his eyes as he continued to watch her approach.  _ That _ was the other thing that was different.  

The girl he had met on the first day was there because she had been given no other choice. Why else would she have been there?  He had frightened away numerous other potential interviewers, and she was the last--the only one left who was truly desperate enough to face him, the magician in the high tower.  

But their meeting tonight was the opposite.  Now, the journalist had come to him of her own volition, and it was not desperation that drove her here.  

_ So...what was it?   _

Hisoka frowned as he mused, continuing to watch the girl.  Her eyes fluttered around the room, pausing to take in the shattered body of the television.  She stared at it curiously, her brow crinkling as she stared at the playing card at the center of the destruction.  He let her look. He let her wonder what kind of strange power could possess small, fragile slip paper until it had the strength to shatter glass and cut through bone.  

When she felt the heat of his gaze, Rhea’s head snapped around to face him, her eyes wide with alarm. But the magician merely smiled and slid gently into his seat at the table within, facing her.

“Please, sit,” he told her, gesturing to the empty chair across from him.

The girl’s eyes narrowed. She was understandably suspicious of him, especially now that he’d admitted the role he’d played in her unfortunate encounter with Li Wenxin.  But even so, her stubborn feet dragged her forward and dropped her into the waiting seat. Again, the magician’s eyes glossed over his unexpected guest, searching for clues to her being here, for whatever hidden detail he’d neglected to detect at their first meeting.  However, the more he looked, the more he sank into the realization that whatever the thing was that made Rhea Satto so puzzling, it was not something he could outwardly see. 

He would have to find another way to solve the riddle.  

Hisoka felt his lips curl up into another sickle-shaped smile, and one of his fingers floated up to his mouth, dragging the long, sharp nail tantalizingly across the flesh of his lower lip.   

_ This will be fun... _

“So, Rhea Satto,” he began, her name rolling off his tongue like smoke.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

…

_ Pleasure? You’ve got to be kidding me… _

Rhea felt a small spark of anger at Hisoka’s words, melting away a bit of the ice fear that was clinging to her insides. She cast another heated glance at the magician as he sat across from her, an eerie, knowing smile upon his face.  One of his hands draped casually in front of him, his long nails tapping out a rhythm on the tabletop, the other pressed gently against his chin. The wide, neon-dotted cityscape shone brightly through the window behind him, outlining his form with a pale ribbon of light and casting all but his eyes in a dark shadow.  In the dim light, they blazed in their sockets, pinning her into place, like one of Wenxin’s delicate butterflies. Undoubtedly, Hisoka knew exactly why she had come, and trading casual niceties certainly wasn’t one of them. 

_ He’s just toying with me, _ Rhea thought, sucking in another shaky breath through her teeth.   _ Again.  _

The journalist swallowed heavily, and balled her fingers up into fists in her lap.  She wanted to speak, and her frustration gave her a small strength, but it wasn’t without a struggle.   

“H-Hisoka...” she finally spat, his name a bitter taste on her tongue. 

Her voice was a raspy, barely-audible whisper. But as she continued speak, her voice grew stronger, more steady, and her confidence gradually began to return.  

“Listen, I’m not here to play games. I...I came because I want answers. The  _ truth. _  If you’re not willing to give me that, tell me now, and I’ll leave.”  

A lump as jagged as a stone formed in Rhea’s throat as she finished and waited for his reaction, but the magician remained strangely silent, his smile seemingly chased away by the darkness.  As the seconds continued to pass, the young woman plunged deeper into her fears, and she suddenly worried if Heaven’s Arena combatant was contemplating killing her. The possibility froze her in place.  Every miniscule twitch of muscle, every trembling, terrified breath, every flicker of movement was brimming with the ominous possibility that it could be her last. Finally, Hisoka shattered the mounting tension with a soft, amused chuckle.  

“As you wish,” he told her, before his voice dipped into a more serious tone. “However, I have a few conditions of my own.”

Rhea felt the muscles in her jaw grow tight. “I said ‘no games.’” 

“Don’t think of it as a game,” the magician retorted. “Think of it as...an even trade.  A deal, if you will.”

Rhea’s breath hitched in her throat.   The conversation had suddenly taken a bizarre turn, and it felt far too familiar--it was as if she were experiencing some warped sense of time folding back in on itself.  Beneath the table, her fists clenched so tightly that her fingernails bit into the skin of her palms. 

“What--what trade?” she asked hesitantly. “What do you want?”

Hisoka’s smile reappeared, a sickly-sweet expression that made her want to gag. 

“The same as you--the  _ truth _ ,” he said teasingly, every syllable slick with honey. “More specifically, your truths for mine.  If I recall correctly, the phrase you used was ‘Something for something.’”

A sudden, jarring realization struck the young woman like an icy dagger in her heart, and she knew to what the magician was referring.  At their first meeting, out of sheer desperation, she had foolishly offered Hisoka her innermost secrets in exchange for his own. At the time, he’d rebuffed her proposal.  Now, here he was offering her the same deal she had begged him to accept, and she was left reeling in the wake of his words. Her mouth hung open with utter disbelief. 

Hisoka was offering her another interview.  A tiny thread to grasp. A second chance. 

Did she dare take it?

The girl blinked up at the man with widened eyes, marveling at how quickly he’d turned the tables on her.  Anger suddenly bubbled in her blood, blotting out her surprise and shock.

“You told me that nothing I could offer you was of interest to you,” she spat out bitterly, scowling towards the man across the table. “What’s changed?”

Hisoka’s eyes dragging rakishly over her form one more time, and he smirked. “Maybe nothing. Maybe many things.  There’s only one way to find out.”

Rhea blinked at him, incredulous.  “How do I know that I can trust you?”  

The magician chuckled darkly.  “You can’t, I’m afraid. But to gain your confidence, I’m willing to answer the first five questions you ask.  However, you must agree to do the same.”

The magician said nothing more, leaving Rhea to wrestle with her thoughts. Her eyes flickered downward, towards her clenched fists, and she saw fresh spots of red appearing through the thin gauze wrapping her hands.  Her nails had broken through the thin skin, drawn blood, and she’d hardly noticed. She wished the rest of her could become just as numb, just so could no longer feel the cold flames of fear lick at her insides. Hisoka was willing to give her what she wanted, but what would he ask in return?  She would be selling her soul, just so that he would bare a sliver of his own. 

_ That is, if he even had a soul to begin with, _ she thought doubtfully.  

Finally, the young journalist glanced up at the magician again, her face expressionless.   

“Fine, we have a deal,” she conceded, her voice trembling slightly.  She swallowed all her remaining doubt and continued. “Five questions for you, five questions for me--but I reserve the right to renegotiate those terms after the first round if I so choose.  Is that okay with you?”

The man nodded in agreement, and Rhea didn’t hesitate to begin the exchange.  

“All right,” she started, looking at the magician pointedly. “First question: Why did you send me to Wenxin?”

The strange, dangerous glint in Hisoka’s eyes brightened. They teased of something wrought with dread and desire, imbued with savagery and seductiveness, and steeped in forgotten memory. Rhea felt her muscles tighten with anticipation as the man leaned forward, his tongue peeking out from behind his lips as he spoke his first truth:

“It was a test.” 

The young woman’s brow furrowed in confusion. She tried to clear it with a quick shake of her head, but her mind was a fuzzy mess of static, like the blurred, snowy picture that fills a television screen when it has no signal. 

“A test of what, exactly?” she persisted. 

Another thin grin spread across the magician’s lips, and suddenly his arm swept across the table.  Rhea jumped in her seat, glanced down, and gasped as a perfectly fanned arch of playing cards appeared on the wooden surface, each facedown and neatly laid across one another.  It took only an instant, and then Hisoka retracted his hands, tucking one under his chin while the other floated in the air between them with one finger extended. 

“Three things,” he began. 

What happened next seemed impossible. The young woman saw a tiny flicker of movement, and then--rather suddenly--a single card slid out from under its neighbors, flipped itself face up, and settled back on the tabletop, all supposedly of its own accord.  She cried out in surprise, nearly vaulting off the chair in her fright. 

“No need to fear,” Hisoka chuckled as she gaped at him fearfully.  “As I was saying...”

Rhea blinked at him, then back at the card in front of her.  It was an ace of spades, and she stared at it bewilderingly until she heard Hisoka speak again. 

“...sending you to Wenxin was mean to determine three things:  First, your bravery – you were frightened, and yet you continued the task,” he explained nonchalantly. 

Another twitch of the air, another miniscule shift, and second card drifted across the table towards her and flipped over all on its own, as if an invisible hand was controlling it.  This time, it was a two of diamonds. 

"Second, your resourcefulness,” Hisoka continued deliberately. “Wenxin existed off the grid, but you managed to find him.” 

Rhea’s eyes darted wildly about, searching for an invisible wire, a string--anything that Hisoka could be using to manipulate the cards on the table--but she found none. The reporter watched open-mouthed as the Heaven’s Arena competitor concluded his explanation. 

"And third, your ability to survive an adverse situation,” he said, and a final card--a three of hearts--slid from the deck and came to rest in front of her. 

Rhea’s heartbeat pounded so loudly in her ears that it threatened to drown out her own thoughts.  The magician’s explanation sounded too ludicrous to be true. Then again, much of what the reporter had witnessed so far tonight stretched the beyond boundaries of believability. It seemed inconceivable that any ordinary person would have the capability to have orchestrated something so complicated and cruel. 

Of course, Hisoka clearly was no ordinary person.  Far,  _ far _ from it.   

Rhea eyes flicked from the trio of cards back towards the man himself.  He’d given her the answer to her one of her most crucial questions, but instead of satisfying her, it only intensified her desire to know more.  She had only three more questions before the inquiry would be directed at her. She had to make them count.

"So...did I pass?" she asked uncertainly.  Two questions left.

The magician granted her another crooked grin as he leaned forward and elegantly swept up the line of cards with one hand. 

"With flying colors," he confirmed cheerfully, his eyes wandering until they settled on the bandage taped underneath her right eye.  His grin didn't waver. "Although, I see you did not escape unscathed.” 

Rhea's hand shot up from her lap, her bandaged fingers prodding the cotton concealing the bloody gash in her cheek. She’d left the hospital in such a determined rage that she’d never even thought of removing it.  Blood and anger flooded upward and flushed her face red. 

“I--I’m lucky to be alive," she said, throwing the magician a sharp glance, “thanks to  _ you. _ ”

Her accusing tone did not seem to phase Hisoka.  The Heaven’s Arena competitor tilted his head, until the little symbols painted on his cheeks were slightly askew.   

“That you are,” he acknowledged. He leaned backwards, draped on arm across the back of the chair, and hung his head back, lightly tapping his deck of playing cards against his lips.  “What an ordeal it must have been. I’m  _ terribly _ curious to hear how you escaped.”

Rhea quickly understood what he meant--what he was trying to do.  __ Her eyes shifted momentarily downward, and she caught a glimpse of the blood still spotting the collar of her coat. A painful knot formed in her stomach as she thought about the bloodthirsty, vengeful look in Wenxin’s eyes, his bloody hands slipping around her throat, and his blood-curdling screams.  

“It’s not your turn yet,” she told him, trying to sound assertive.  “I still have two questions left.” 

Hisoka’s eyes flickered more brightly for a moment, but then he nodded in acceptance, indicating that she should continue.  Rhea chose her words carefully. 

“The people who held this job before me...did you ‘test’ them too?”

The magician looked perplexed for a moment, and his gaze dropped to the tabletop, as if he had to retreat far into his memory in order to retrieve the faces and names of the other journalists.  After a moment, he glanced back at her, his expression serious. 

“Only the last one,” he said, reminiscing.  “The one that came before you.”

Rhea’s insides clenched.  That was the reporter who her boss, Derks Beck, claimed was dead.  She felt goosebumps prickle the back of her neck, simultaneously realizing that she only had one more question left to ask and fearing that she already knew the answer.    

“Did--did you kill him?”  Her voice escaped her lips as a terrified, trembling whisper. 

Hisoka’s mouth curved up wickedly. “What do you think, Rhea Satto?” 

The magician said nothing more. He didn’t need to--his smile was proof enough of his guilt. The journalist felt the cold realization sink into her, spreading like ice through her bones.  

_ He’s a killer, just like Wenxin,  _ she thought fearfully.  _ He’ll try kill me too when he gets the chance.  _

Rhea clasped her hands against her lips and doubled over, wrenching empty air into the bloodied palms of her hands. She wanted to run, but her limbs were frozen, heavy blocks attached to her torso, incapable of moving.  She wanted to scream, but only a whimper escaped her throat. She was paralyzed, struck helpless in the shadow of death, and left with no choice but to stare up in horror at the man--no, the  _ murderer _ \--as he spoke again, his words bobbing up and down like a playful song.

“I believe that’s five questions…”

Hisoka paused briefly, his grin widening with evil glee, spreading wide across teeth and cracking his face in two. 

“...my turn to play interviewer.”

…

**Additional Author’s Note:** Goody, goody, I’m done.  This chapter is much shorter than the previous two, but it seemed to end naturally at this point.  Don’t worry, I’ll try not to wait too long to post the next chapter. Thank you! 


	6. Catalyst

**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Hunter x Hunter; only my plot and my original characters belong to me.   

**Author’s Note:** Lordy...it’s been a while. Hi there, dear readers. I’m so sorry to have taken so long to get this chapter up there. After a year of no updates, I don’t have many excuses, just an explanation of why this chapter took so damned long: You know how when you’re writing, and the story just seems take on a life of its own and to head organically in one direction, despite what you--the author--originally intended? That’s kind of what happened with this scene, and I’ve been fighting against it for months. Well, I finally decided to let the story take control, and I’ve got to say, despite my crazed perfectionist ways, I honestly feel it was the right choice. I certainly hope you feel the same. Enjoy the sixth chapter, and thank you again!

**...**

**Chapter Six: Catalyst**

**...**

Outside the glittering tower of Heaven’s Arena, the stars slowly disappeared under a black veil of clouds.  The surrounding skyscrapers’ lights gradually flickered out, one after another, until the buildings were merely hulking, empty husks looming precariously over the streets below. Darkness pressed upon the windows, warping them inward, hungry to stain every surface within. 

Even inside Hisoka’s apartment, what little light that existed seemed to be starved of its luminescence, stolen away by the intensity in the mysterious magician’s eyes.  They were like twin pinpoints of gravity: drawing everything around into them, holding it there with an unspeakable force, and refusing to let go. 

And right now they were solely fixed on Rhea Satto. 

“I believe that’s five questions…my turn to play interviewer.” 

As the man spoke, Rhea struggled to not let her fear consume her.  She wanted  _ out _ .  Her gaze strayed in the direction of the door, and she briefly considered attempting an escape, but she doubted her wobbly legs could carry her so far. 

Hisoka guessed her thoughts instantly.  “You’re welcome to leave if you wish,” he told her, the words laced with a false benevolence. 

Rhea’s widened eyes darted back up to stare at him, her fear temporarily masked by disbelief. Was she really so transparent, and so weak? More importantly, was there even a downside to never having to meet with Hisoka again? After all, she’d received the answers she had sought from him, and had already been given a different job by her boss. She no longer had any reason to stay in the magician’s presence.  But just as she thought she’d made up her mind, the young woman hesitated. 

_ Is--is this another test? _ she wondered suddenly. 

The revelation struck her like a bolt of ice to her chest, and spun her already frenzied thoughts into a whirlwind of suspicion. What could Hisoka be assessing this time? Maybe he wished to see if she was sincere enough to honor her end of their deal.  Maybe he wanted to further measure her courage. Maybe it wasn’t a test at all, but a cruel trick to gain her trust before he killed her--not unlike when Wenxin had lured her into his home. 

_ Almost being murdered didn’t teach me anything, did it?  _ she thought bitterly. 

The young woman’s eyes dropped to her lap once more, and she watched as a stray finger wormed its way out of her entwined hands and began to pick at the bandages that covered her mutilated knuckles. She imagined pressing the bare flesh to her lips, the satisfying scrape of rough skin against her teeth, and the sharp taste of iron and blood stinging her tongue. 

_ Damn it,  _ she thought despairingly.  _ Why do I do this to myself? Why can’t I just walk away?  _

Rhea’s lashes fluttered closed, and a single hot tear streaked down the side of her bandaged cheek.  The journalist winced slightly as the saltwater sank through the gauze and came into contact with the bloody gash underneath. The pain slowly blossomed throughout her body, relieving some of the chill in her blood, and reviving some of her former resolve.  

If the magician meant to test her, she didn’t want to fail.  If he meant to kill her, she wanted to die with dignity, not running from him like some animal. A frantic, final scream of protest throbbed painfully in her throat, but swallowed it along with the rest of her remaining terror. The young woman slowly straightened herself in her seat, opened her eyes, and gazed coldly into Hisoka’s own. When she spoke, each word felt like a nail being pounded into her own coffin, but she didn’t flinch. 

“No, I’ll stay,” she whispered.  

_ Even if it kills me... _

... 

It was a foolish decision.

Of course, Hisoka wasn’t going to protest. It was a thrill to terrify the young woman, and when he saw her struggle to mask that fear with a thin veneer of determination, his body lit up with little sparks of blissful electricity. The bursts of euphoria sizzled and hopped from nerve to nerve, forcing him to hold back a shudder. It was intoxicating.  

“Excellent,” he responded, hiding his ravenous thoughts behind a nonchalant grin. “Now, where to begin...”

Hisoka slide his tongue slowly across his lips, his mind slipping in and out of darkness, lusting for more than just a quick, clean thrill.  Just the thought of slaying Rhea Satto was like a sip of fine wine to his senses. His eyes darted from the young woman’s pale, bandaged face to the crimson stains dotting her collar, and he practically salivated for the chance to paint her entire body with blood. The intense need did not diminish, even when he flicked his eyes away from his guest. It left his body aching from the inside, his blood racing, his aura rippling with rich, intoxicating waves of pleasure. Oh, how he wanted it.  He wanted to enjoy  _ all _ of it at once--rushing, red, and euphoric. 

_ But...not...yet. _

Only the magician’s intense curiosity halted his ravenous bloodlust. He still wondered how the reporter had survived her deadly encounter with Li Wenxin, and why she felt compelled to come back, despite her obvious fear of him. Perhaps it was simply luck that had saved the girl from death, perhaps she had a secret death wish--or maybe--just  _ maybe _ \--something more profound had been the catalyst.  

Now was his chance to find out.

But he would have to do so carefully. The young woman was skittish, so easily frightened--like a small, wide-eyed rodent knowingly caught in the gaze of a predator.  Another shock could send her bounding out the door, leaving the magician without something to entertain himself. That simply wouldn’t do. And so, like any indulgence, Hisoka intended to savor it slowly... _ delicately _ .  

His eyes slid slowly back up to the girl’s pale face, and he wasted no more time. 

“As I’ve said before, Rhea Satto, I’m curious to hear how you escaped Wenxin,” he began. “But first, I want to know more about  _ you _ ...”

The girl’s eyes narrowed a bit in surprise, but she said nothing. Hisoka took this as an invitation to continue--which he did, with a leering, bloodthirsty smile. 

“So, tell me, Rhea Satto...” The magician’s voice transformed into a lilting, poisonous melody. “...what is your greatest fear?”

…

Rhea’s eyes bulged wide. 

_ No. No, no, no. I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to remember. Please, no. _

But it was already too late. The door to her dark memories had been opened, and like a vacuum into space, she was being sucked in. Her heart grew cold, her face became ashy and pale, and she was suddenly transported back to a day thirteen years before--the day her childhood died. 

...

_ Fire.   _

_ Its bright, flickering tendrils were once something she’d treasured.  The flame was a living thing. It had calmed her, to watch the glowing, golden threads stretching upward, growing until she blew them out with a puff of breath. Even though her mother had forbade her to continue to foster her growing fascination, she had done so anyway.  _

_ It had been her secret. But that was before the fire had turned on her.  _

_ She could hear the rhythmic crackle of its heartbeat and feel its heated breath on her neck.   It licked its fiery tongue on her skin. It ate, chewing through wood, mortar, and flesh with the slow, voracious hunger of a monster.   _

_ Yes, it was monstrous. Regardless of their deceitful beauty, the flames were a harbinger of death.  Now Rhea understood that crucial fact, but it was much too late to change her fate.  _

_ Suddenly she was eight years old again, and the air around her sparked red and gold, both dazzling and deadly.  She felt herself scream, but her weakened voice was not enough to rise above the flames. Another scream sounded, but it was not her own.  It called her name, over and over and over again. It was her mother's voice, but she could not return the desperate cry. The smoke strung withered, wispy cords around her neck, tightening slowly and choking off her oxygen.  She stared in horror as the curling fingers of heat crawled across her skin, reaching up towards her face.  _

... 

The images played like grainy roles of film inside Rhea’s head, distorted by the pain they carried. What she felt now wasn’t crippling anxiety or stomach-churning nausea. It was the absence of a feeling at all. A dreadful numbness iced over every inch of her flesh, deadening nearly all of her senses. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t look away, and she couldn’t speak.  

However, her silence incited no response from Hisoka.  Instead, he waited patiently with a wicked expression upon his face: Sharply-arched eyebrows knitted together, lips stretched in a wide, sickle-shaped smile, and bright amber eyes burning into hers like the embers of a barely-contained fire. Suddenly, Rhea understood why the glint in his eyes had seemed so dreadfully familiar. 

The bright, flickering tendrils that she had once found so captivating, the roaring glow that had consumed everything around her with a ravenous hunger, the destructive conflagration that had permeated her nightmares since her childhood...

...those same flames filled Hisoka’s eyes whenever he looked at her.  

In her mind, Rhea was eight years old again, innocent and unaware of the impending danger until it was too late. Hisoka, with his lingering gaze and insatiable appetite for violence, was the fire.  The young reporter suddenly realized she’d made an enormous mistake. 

_ I was wrong. I can’t stay here. _

Somehow, her frozen legs managed to move, regaining some vague semblance of sensation. She rose from the chair quickly, steadying herself on her wobbly knees by propping her arms on the table. Her lips regained their feeling next, and Rhea gazed blankly down at Hisoka as she spoke. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice a cold, robotic murmur. “I changed my mind.” 

The young woman turned away without so much as an explanation, clumsily plodding in the direction of the door. Her body felt like it was disconnected from itself, like a marionette being jerked around by a reckless child, yet she continued forward. She heard no footsteps following behind her, only her own heartbeat pounding rapidly in her ears, as she approached the open doorway. 

Time slowed, and Rhea glimpsed just a few inches of the carpeted hall outside the door before it suddenly and violently disappeared with a thunderous slam. 

The journalist glanced dumbfoundedly at the now-closed door in front of her. How had it just slammed shut on its own? She glanced back at Hisoka, but he still sat in his chair across the room, watching her confusion with obvious amusement. Turning back to the door, she clenched the doorknob in her bandaged hands and twisted. 

Nothing happened. The girl’s panic reached new heights. Frantically, she seized the mechanism and yanked with all the strength she had left. The door still refused to budge. Primal fear and adrenaline ripped through her veins, heightening her senses, and suddenly she perceived an ominous presence looming behind her. Her eyes trailed upward and bulged with terror when they settled on the slender, white hand that held the door shut. 

“Tsk, tsk, Rhea Satto...” Hisoka chided softly-- _ dangerously _ \--his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. As he spoke, she could feel his hot on the back of her neck, just like the scorching heat of the fire so many years ago. “It’s bad manners to leave without saying goodbye--and it’s unspeakably rude to leave your end of the deal unfulfilled.”

The magician’s head glided over her right shoulder, closing what little space existed between them, and she felt his next words shudder against her ear. 

“Turn around.” 

His voice had gained a sudden, deadly edge--and it drove a shock of dread through the young woman’s heart. A familiar, prickling sensation slowly crawled up her body, like thousands of needles jabbing her skin, and she gasped at the sudden, unexpected physical pain that the magician’s proximity caused. 

She spun around to face him, her breath hitching in her chest, her head kept low to hide the tears streaming down her cheeks. She was trapped again, in a near-inescapable situation, with a killer. However, this time, no sudden burst of courage flooded her heart. No miraculous determination to live manifested itself within her mind. The strange, suffocating pressure against her skin crescendoed to such a degree that it held her in place. All Rhea could do was close her eyes tightly and wait for the end. 

But it never came. 

Instead, Hisoka leaned in, resting his arm against the door above her head, as she cowered under his darkening shadow.  

“Such a shame that you would forget your dedication so quickly,” he said. “However, I am strangely compelled to forgive your transgression...if you agree to a few more conditions.” 

The young woman’s eyes fluttered open in surprise; her heart throbbed so desperately in her throat that she nearly choked on it. 

“No more monthly interviews,” the Heaven’s Arena combatant went on. “From now on, come when called. I’ll determine the time and place.  And from now on, I’ll always be the one interviewing  _ you _ .  If what you tell me pleases me, I may reciprocate.” 

Rhea blinked in disbelief, but she stayed silent, still too frightened to speak--even though now she was uncertain of Hisoka’s intentions. Even when she felt the pain of the doorknob digging into the flesh of her back, she dared not to move a muscle. She was a statue on the brink of crumbling. 

“If that arrangement is acceptable to you, nod,” Hisoka finally prompted.

The young woman blinked, and a single glittering tear fell to the floor between their feet. She stared at it as she considered what seemed like Hisoka’s final offer. What other choice did she have? Certainly to refuse would be to welcome death. She had to do whatever she had to do to get out of here alive. Eventually, her stiff muscles softened slightly, and she gave a tiny, reluctant nod. 

The magician grinned, obviously pleased, and the prickling pressure diminished enough to allow Rhea to breathe. Instinctively, she lifted her chin from her heaving chest, and as she did, Hisoka’s free hand rose up and he stuck a long, sharp nail under her chin, forcing their eyes to meet. The girl gasped as she was frozen in yet another of the magician’s intense, fiery gazes.

“Oh, and one more thing, Rhea Satto.” The wolfish grin reappeared on his face, and his eyes shone like glowing embers once again. “You  _ will  _ return to me to fulfill your end of the deal. Do you want know why?”

The young woman squirmed and whimpered as she felt Hisoka press his nail into the soft, tender flesh at her jaw, drawing her face closer to his. 

“Because if you don’t, I’ll come for  _ you _ ,” he told her. “Understood?”

Rhea bit the inside of her lip, hard enough to draw blood. It tasted metallic and sharp, like a knife in her mouth. She understood, of course. The message couldn’t have been clearer.  _ Do as I tell you, or you’ll die. _ The magician drew back his finger, releasing the young woman’s chin, and she nodded again in compliance, utterly helpless to do anything else.

“Good girl,” he said. Behind her, the door miraculously unlatched.

Hisoka granted her one last, leering grin, and stepped back into the darkness of the room. Now the young woman could only see the blurred outline of his body - that, and his yellow, terribly perceptive eyes.  As the shadows obscured more and more of him from view, his eyes stayed fixed on her, glowing despite the gathering dark. She continued to watch them with bated breath as the magician retreated to one of the room’s vast windows. He turned around to face the neon lights of the city outside, only thin sheen of light illuminating his pale, painted face, and said no more. 

And then Rhea was gone, out the door, down the hall, her legs carrying her away from that darkened space as fast as they possibly could.

…

_ Intoxicating. _

Hisoka felt a pleasurable shudder ripple through his flesh, and he slumped slightly in front of his window, gazing dazedly out into the swirling darkness and illuminated streets below. His second encounter with Rhea Satto hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but it had been more than enough to fully arouse his bloodlust. Dark desires festered within his twisted mind, and his muscles ached and twitched with every ravenous thought.

It had been extraordinarily difficult to resist the temptation to slay the girl, but as before, curiosity and the desire to continue tormenting her stopped him. Right now, the world was simply more interesting to him with her alive. However, he wasn’t sure he could resist the urge next time. 

_ Such a sweet, broken, delightful little toy... _ . 

The magician leaned forward, pressed his forehead against the cool, smooth glass, and sighed. His eyes dipped down and spied the 200-story drop into space on the other side. He sucked in a few slow, tremorous breaths, but they did nothing to dampen the fiery impulses within him. His nen vibrated and pulsed violently around his body, growing stronger every second. 

Suddenly the chilled glass against his head gave a mighty crack, and a spiderweb of bright fissures rippled across the window--created by the sheer pressure of his murderous aura. Hisoka leaned back, somewhat surprised that he hadn’t maintained better control. 

Something had to give, he decided. He  _ needed _ release. 

His heavy-lidded gaze slide to the side, and he peered out towards the yellow, illuminated rectangle that was the doorway. In her haste to leave, Rhea Satto had left the door wide open. To Hisoka, that was enough, and he knew what to do next to alleviate his desires. 

He grinned wickedly, and in a moment he too was out the door.

....

Rhea reached the elevator, she jumped inside and slammed her fist onto the button for the ground floor--although she didn’t really care where the contraption took her.  Anywhere was better than here. The door closed with a soft “ding” behind her, and she collapsed onto the floor.

Her little body curled up in the middle of the empty elevator car, racked with powerful, uncontrollable sobs. She balled up a fist and shoved it--bandages and all--towards her mouth. Her jaws instantly clenched down on her mangled knuckles, slicing through the flimsy gauze and drawing new blood, and a muffled scream tore itself from her throat. She screamed until her throat was raw and a dark stream of blood trickled down from her gnashing teeth down her arm. 

She had been so stupid--to think that she could somehow coax anything besides more terror from Hisoka. So unbelievably, demonstrably, blatantly stupid. And now she was caught in his web of tangled dealings, unable to even run away. 

_ Why did I ever come back here?  _ She wondered in her desperation, and then she added:  _ What does he want with me anyway?  _

Several awful scenarios played themselves out like miniature horror films in Rhea’s terrorized mind. If she honored the magician’s request to come when called, if she submitted obediently to his “interviews” whenever he liked, surely every encounter would end like this one--with her curled in a fetal position somewhere, shrieking with paralyzing fear. If she attempted to avoid Hisoka, he would find her and kill her himself. 

The young woman wasn’t sure which scenario was worse. 

Gradually, her inundation of tears ebbed and she resolved herself to her fate, however unfortunate. Like it or not, Hisoka’s new terms were all she had. If she obeyed, perhaps she’d walk away with her life when he tired of her.

The elevator dinged again, indicating that it had reached its destination. In a moment the doors would open. 

Rhea shuddered one more time at the thought of the magician and his terrible, fire-filled eyes. Whatever she did from now, on she’d have to tread carefully. She realized now the colossal gravity of her choices: If she wasn’t cautious - if she trusted the magician too much - he’d undoubtedly betray her, just like the fire had thirteen years before. Just one misstep could cause her entire world go up in smoke for a second time. 

If that ever happened, Rhea decided, death was the kinder, gentler fate. She would rather let the inferno consume her than live long enough to suffer afterward.  

Especially when she had been the the one to incite the flames.  

…

Hisoka waited impatiently for the door to open. He’d done what he could to contain his bloodthirsty thoughts, but his Nen betrayed his dark impulses. It wafted and flared wildly around him like an angry spirit, even as he stood perfectly still, waiting to strike.

_ It will all be taken care of in a moment,  _ he told himself assuredly. 

Finally, the sliding doors parted and revealed the young woman inside the small space. She lifted her head and blinked tiredly through the remaining glass casing, gazing at him as though he were merely a dream, before her eyes went wide with shock and realization.

“Oh--Mr. Hisoka!” the registration clerk exclaimed in surprise, adjusting her cap and brushing off her distinctive Heaven’s Arena uniform. She glanced quickly at the clock above her in the small office space, noting that it was just a few minutes before the registration office officially closed. “How may I help you?”

Hisoka shot her a sickeningly sweet smile, and the woman visibly shuddered. He leaned in close to the glass that separated him, careful not to let his volatile Nen shatter it this time, and revealed his purpose.  

“I’d like to register for a fight.” 

…

**Second Author’s Note:** See what I did there? Did you think Hisoka was going to meet Rhea again when the elevator doors opened? Tricked you! Hah! Anyway...there it is. That’s how the story unfolded by itself. Thanks for being patient, if you made it this far and are reading this comment. If you liked, be sure to leave a comment or kudos. Thanks again for reading! 


	7. Anticipation

**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Hunter x Hunter; only my plot and my original characters belong to me.   

 

* * *

 

**Chapter Seven: Anticipation**

* * *

 

That night, despite her physical and mental exhaustion, Rhea was barely able to sleep.   Stray memories and quivering remnants of fear still drifted in her head as she fell into bed, and these transformed themselves into horrifying nightmares. Every time she nodded off, she was shocked awake by fearful visions of the magician in Heaven’s Arena.. 

_ Just breathe... _ she coached herself as she hugged her sheets to her chest, hoping to forget Hisoka’s painted face and lull herself back into a state of relative calm.  _ Breathe... _

However, her efforts were fruitless. Even when she was awake, the young woman kept imagining that he was somehow in the room with her, watching her intently with those keen, fire-filled eyes and sly grin.  She spent half the night twisting and turning, thinking she’d spotted his shadow slinking along the wall, climbing through the window, or lurking by her bedside. Rhea shivered at the very thought, even now as she lay staring blankly at the ceiling. Outside her only window, a thin ribbon of light was just beginning to peek over the horizon. 

Rhea took another deep, controlled breath and then swung her legs over the edge of her thin, lumpy mattress. Her bare feet grazed the cold, tiled floor of her apartment and she shuddered again.  When she’d returned home--a small, brick-and-mortar complex tucked between two looming skyscrapers in a forgotten part of the city--and finally fell into bed, she’d not even bothered to change out of her wrinkled hospital gown. Now, the garment’s hem fluttered loosely around her knees as she cautiously tiptoed in the dark towards her diminutive bathroom. Once there, the young journalist’s gauze-covered fingers fumbled clumsily in the dark for the light switch, and once found, she flipped it up with a loud “click.” 

A harsh light suddenly filled the small space, and Rhea blinked uncomfortably for a few moments as her eyes attempted to adjust to the brightness.  When her vision adapted to the new level of brightness, she glanced morosely into the mirror above the sink at her own reflection. 

_ I look awful,  _ she thought with a frown. 

It was true. Her hair was an unkempt mess that resembled a bird’s nest.  Although the staff at the hospital had done their best to wipe all of the blood from her wounds away, but she could still see a few darkened, dried flecks in her hairline and along the bottom of her jaw.  The make-up she’d carefully applied 24 hours before was now streaked and smudged across her eyelids, giving her the appearance of a lifeless corpse. And lastly, still taped onto her right cheek was the large, bandage, dotted with spots of blackened blood where Li Wenxin had cut her.  

Rhea frowned and glanced away.  She’d never been particularly confident or proud of her appearance, but seeing herself in such a sorry state - and knowing that others had done the same - filled her with embarrassment.  The young journalist’s eyes flickered back up towards the mirror, refocusing her gaze on the cotton dressing that concealed her wound. She peered at it curiously for a few seconds. Then she lifted one of her hands and very slowly, very carefully, peeled the bandage from her face. The injury underneath the dressing had been expertly stitched closed at the hospital, but she could still see and feel how deep the cut had dug into the flesh of her cheek.  

It would leave a permanent scar.  Rhea closed her mouth into a tight, thin line and dropped her gaze again.  

_ Another _ permanent scar.  

Wetness brimmed the edges of the young woman’s eyes as she slowly and deliberately unwound the bloody bandages wrapped around her fingers.  Thin strips of cotton dropped into the sink’s basin, revealing the reddened, angry bite marks underneath, but beneath those, the skin of Rhea’s hands was much more deeply marred.  It was fairly easy to see that the texture and color of them was inconsistent, but someone with a keen eye could see some areas were more translucent than the others. The young woman held out her hands, splaying her fingers, and as she did the way her flesh moved mimicked wet paper stretched thinly over bone. That was what happened when you were severely burned. 

_ It’s been thirteen years since the fire,  _ she thought lamentably.  _ Thirteen years I wish I could forget. _

Rhea frowned, and then--just as she had many times before, forcibly pushed the unpleasant thoughts away.  She reached a scarred hand forward and turned on the faucet, silently dedicated the next few minutes to cleaning herself up. An anguished groan echoed out from the pipes within the walls, as if the old building itself were in pain, but she waited. After a moment, water slowly trickled out of the tap and into her waiting palms. Rhea cupped her hands together tightly, dipped her head, and splashed her face with the cool liquid.  She wiped away the dried flecks of blood that still clung to her injured cheek, her disastrously smudged makeup, and silently watched as the water returned to the sink’s basin darker than before. 

Next she lifted the hem of the hospital gown over her head and carefully slipped it off. The fabric fell into a wrinkled heap on the floor, and Rhea gazed at her naked form in the mirror. Aside from her hands, it easy to hide her deformity when she was fully clothed, but now it was plainly clear to see the extent of the damage her waif-like figure had endured. Snaking up her arms, zigzagging across her back, chest, and stomach, and trailing down her hips and one thigh were more strange, semi-translucent scars. The color was mottled and uneven; there were swirls of white in some places, with cherry-red streaks in others. Although upon first glance they gave the impression of being fragile, the texture was actually rough and leathery.  Although they no longer caused her physical pain, every time Rhea viewed her scars in the mirror, she was reminded of the emotional anguish they conjured. They were the special kind of physical defect that children loudly pointed in out in public, that caused people to cringe and recoil in disgust, and led Rhea to conceal her humiliation with a closet of long sleeves and high collars. 

Most of all, they were visible reminders of the colossal mistake she’d made thirteen years before--the day she’d lost both her childhood innocence and her mother to a massive wall of flame. 

Rhea felt a tear well out of the corner of her eye and roll down her cheek across the fresh gash in her cheek. Before Li Wenxin had attacked her, her face had remained one of the only places on her body that didn’t display evidence of her tragic past; it had been the only part of her she could gaze at without feeling agonizing shame. Now it was marred with yet another terrible memory. Sadness turned to self-loathing, and soon Rhea couldn’t stop the inundation of tears from rolling down her cheeks.

_ Why? Why do these things keep happening to me?   _ Her thoughts were frenzied, buzzing hornets in her head.  _ Did I do something to deserve all this? What is wrong with me? _

Somewhere between sobbing over the sink and stealing glances at damaged form in the mirror, Rhea became aware of a buzzing noise from the adjacent room. She realized that it was the vibration of her work-issued cellphone. It was still in her jacket. The young woman wiped her tears, threw on a tattered bathrobe, and retrieved the device. As soon a she glanced at the screen, she grimaced. 

It was Dirks Beck calling. 

Rhea considered letting the call go to voicemail. She didn’t want to deal with her chain-smoking, aggressively insensitive boss right now. However, not answering would probably bring more problems her way, instead of solving them. With a heavy sigh, she reluctantly put the phone to her ear.

“Hello, Mr. Beck,” she said, not bothering to mask her tiredness.

“Satto!” shouted the man back at her. “Where have you been? I received a call that my driver dropped you off at Heaven’s Arena and that you never were picked back up again!”

_ Oh, that. _ Rhea cursed under her breath. 

“Um, yes, sorry Mr. Beck,” she said after a moment. “I walked back home. I, uh...I needed the fresh air.” 

Her excuse wasn’t exactly a lie. To be honest, when she’d left Heaven’s Arena last night, the young reporter was so spooked that she’d simply forgotten that she now had access to a private car and driver. She’d ran as far as she could from the building, until she thought might drop to the pavement from fatigue, and then weakly dragged her aching body the rest of the way home. 

“Um...I got Hisoka to answer some of my questions before I left,” she offered, hoping that perhaps this news would please her boss. 

However, the editor-in-chief didn’t seem to have heard her. “You need to come down to the office immediately. The police have been pestering me to talk to you about what happened with Wenxin. I told them that you’d provide a written statement--and only with the the paper’s lawyer present.” 

Rhea blinked incredulously. “Why would I need a lawyer?”

“The paper’s interests need to be protected,” Mr. Beck explained impatiently. “We’ll cooperate with the officials, of course, but I know for a fact that there are leaks in the police department, and I don’t want your full story to be one of them. The details of the Butterfly Killer will only be found in  _ The Republic Daily _ !” 

Once again, the young woman was astonished at the extent of her boss’s one-track mind. Of course the lawyer was there only to protect the company’s ability to profit from her horrifying experience. 

“I--I’ve barely slept,” she protested meekly. 

Again, Mr. Beck didn’t seem to hear her sentiments. “And while you’re here, we’ll have you sign your new contract stating your new responsibilities.” 

Rhea felt the familiar twinge of anxiety creep up from the pit of her stomach up her throat, and she struggled to speak. “I--I’m not sure that I--”

“I’ll send my driver over  to fetch you in an hour,” her boss interrupted. “Is the address you gave on your resume still current?”

“Y-yes, it is.” 

The journalist heard the short, slightly static puff of air on the other line, and knew that Mr. Beck was probably blowing out a cloud of foul-smelling smoke from one of his many cigarettes. “Good. Don’t be late.”

There was a loud click as the man abruptly hung up, and then only a dial tone droned loudly in Rhea’s ears. She dropped the phone in her lap and breathed heavily, a seed of nausea beginning to blossom in her stomach. She was still unbelieving that all of this could be happening to her. 

_ It’s okay,  _ she told herself, even though she certainly didn’t feel that it was.  _ If I do what Mr. Beck wants, maybe I can come home early and try to get some rest.  _

Rhea glanced down at her naked hands, at the obvious bite marks left there over the past few hours. The temptation to shove one of her knuckles into her mouth right now was strong, but somehow, she resisted. Instead, she took another deep breath and resolved to shower, dress, and mentally prepare for the trip downtown. 

_ Breathe. Just breathe.  _

…

In Heaven’s Arena, the news that Hisoka had signed up for a fight traveled quickly. The magician had wanted to relieve his murderous urges as soon as possible, and so he’d not shown any preference about who he fought--he’d simply requested the soonest time slot available. It was to be in two days. 

He visited the cafeteria in the morning, and the room was already abuzz with talk about who the elusive magician would be fighting. His opponent’s name was tossed about from table to table, but although they seemed to have gathered a respectable reputation, he didn’t recognize it as one of the fighters who already lived on the 200th floor. 

That meant he’d be fighting a rookie. Hisoka frowned. He’d hoped for someone more experienced--someone who, at the very least, be capable of entertaining him just a little before he dispatched them, as he nearly always did. However, as he gathered the provisions he wanted, ate in subdued silence, and headed back towards the elevator, he began to perk up. He felt the heat of many watchful eyes following his every move today--more than usual, anyway--and he soaked up the attention gladly. 

The magician stepped onto the elevator, a wistful smile upon his painted face. A deck of cards appeared between his fingers and he flipped it expertly between his palms. Most people in Heaven’s Arena kept their distance from him, and so as the elevator doors began to close, he was in confined to the small space alone. That was, until he suddenly heard a slightly panicked female voice shouting in his direction.

“Hey! Hold the door!” 

Hisoka glanced up and saw a tall, attractive woman with dark hair rushing towards the entrance. He didn’t make any effort to hold the elevator door open for her, but it didn’t matter. She arrived just in time to slip through and join him inside. 

“Thanks for the help,” she told him with a playful eye roll. 

She laughed to show that she was joking, a perfectly pleasant sound, but the joyful noise annoyed Hisoka slightly. He dropped his gaze and continued to flip and fan his deck of cards, ignoring the woman’s presence--and the fact that she continued to stare at him. 

Eventually, she spoke again. “You’re Hisoka, aren’t you?”

The magician lifted his eyes from his cards to glance at her, but he refrained from doing anything but raising a single, thin eyebrow. His expression confirmed to the woman that her suspicions were correct, but did nothing more to indicate his emotions. 

“Pleased to meet you,” the woman continued, a sly smile gracing her cherry-red lips. “I’m Lilith.”

That detail finally succeeded in earning Hisoka’s attentions. His cards disappeared out of his hand and he turned towards her, mirroring her smile. 

“You’re my opponent,” he said matter-of-factly, even though both of them knew that much was obvious. 

“That’s me,” she confirmed with a nod. She twirled a piece of long, curly hair in her hands as she went on. “I wanted to see the person I’d be fighting, before we actually fought. You’ve got quite a reputation here.” 

A dark smile tugged at the magician’s cheeks. “Frightened?”

The woman shrugged nonchalantly, her eyes rising up and gazing momentarily at the ceiling as the elevator began to climb. 

“Not really. I’ve fought scary men before,” she replied. 

“You’ve fought  _ only  _ men, or so I’ve heard.”

“Your heard right.” She took a step closer to him, and fixed her eyes on his. “And I haven’t lost yet.”

Hisoka was impressed, not by the undefeated record she claimed to hold, but by the boldness with which she conducted herself in his presence. She certainly didn’t seem frightened of him, and that put her in a category above most other competitors in Heaven’s Arena. 

“I know you have an unbeaten streak too,” she continued, boldly taking another step towards him, her hips swaying. There were mere inches separating them now, but Hisoka didn’t move from the spot where he stood. “So I’m curious...about what it would take to break that streak.”

Suddenly the woman closed the gap between them, her curvaceous body pressed up suggestively against Hisoka’s own. Her lips fell over his and her hands reached down and cupped Hisoka between his legs. After a moment of aggressive groping, she pulled her head back, releasing his mouth and licking her lips in an obviously seductive gesture. 

“Let’s make a deal,” she told him, her voice reduced to a breathless whisper. “Agree to throw the fight, and I’ll let you have me. Whenever--and  _ however _ \--you want.” 

The magician stared down at her, still unmoving, and equally unmoved by her attempt to seduce him. So she hoped to trade sexual favors for a guaranteed victory in the ring? Hioska had to admit, it was an bold and unconventional tactic, and it had obviously worked in her favor before. It wasn’t hard to see why. She was strikingly attractive, with just-bitten, red lips, full breasts, and seductive bedroom eyes. For a normal man, she would appear a tempting seductress in every aspect. 

But Hisoka’s tastes were far from normal, and thusly her efforts to arouse him took no effect. The only thing her actions guaranteed her was the magician’s resolution to make her suffer more than necessary during their battle later this week. However, even as he daydreamed of painting the white marble tiles of the ring crimson with the woman’s blood, he masked his true intentions with another smile.

“I’m going to enjoy playing with you,” he said sincerely, more to himself than to the woman embracing him, and then with a dark glance he added: “But it’s going to take more than that to turn me on.” 

The woman laughed again, tossing her long hair back over her shoulder happily, undoubtedly thinking that she’d succeeded in her endeavor. 

“Ooh, a man with eclectic tastes! I can work with that,” she cooed, giving him a not-so-subtle squeeze. “What will I have to do?” 

A silent moment stretched the air between them, and the elevator groaned to a halt. They had reached the 200th floor. Hisoka’s smile widened, his dark, malignant aura burst into bloom between them, and finally he spoke. His voice was a velvety, venomous melody.

“You’ll have to die.” 

The woman’s playful expression disappeared, and she took a few rapid steps back, perhaps sensing how the atmosphere in the small space had changed. All the warmth and flirtatiousness fell out of her face, and now she glared at him with a cold and stormy countenance. A ding sounded, and the elevator doors slid open. 

“Screw you,” she muttered, before retreating out the doors. When she had fled a safe distance down the hall, the woman turned back and shouted one final word: “Freak!”

Hisoka was left alone in the elevator, not the least bit upset with her insults, and soaking in his pulsing, murderous aura. He was struck motionless not by the woman’s brazen attempts to seduce him, but by the savagery which blossomed within him when he thought of what he’d truly like to do to her. The doors of the elevator began to close, and the contraption to lower, but the magician continued to wander aimlessly in his own mind, grinning malevolently, his dark desires leading him from one scenario to the other. His body shuddered with delight at every violent possibility, and in that moment, he knew one thing to be true.

This battle would be one that audiences would not soon forget.

* * *

 

**Author’s Note:** Whooo! Another chapter down! Reveal more about Rhea’s tragic past and her physical / emotional scars - CHECK, establish that Hisoka has a very different idea of physical intimacy - CHECK, leave the readers with a mean cliffhanger - CHECK! Thank you so much for your continued readership! : ) 


	8. Dealings

**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Hunter x Hunter; only my plot and my original characters belong to me.   

**Author’s Note:** Well, this chapter turned out to be not as long as I would have preferred, but at least I got it done within a few months of the last chapter. Thanks to those of you who waited! I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

**Chapter Eight: Dealings**

* * *

 

 

Even though it was still early morning, the air in the city was already sizzling with heat. Not a wisp of cloud nor a drop of rain appeared, and the sun’s rays spread like an arch of bright white daggers across the blue-tinged sky. When Rhea arrived at _The Republic Daily_ headquarters, beads of sweat already forming on her forehead despite her traveling in a car, a blast of cold air met her as she stepped inside. It filled her bones with a familiar chill, and once again she felt the desire--no, the need--to chew on her knuckles. However, there was no time at all for that, for she was immediately ushered up to the office of the Editor-in-Chief. When she entered the room, a thick cloud of smoke lingered in the cool air.  She stifled a cough, blinking dazedly forward.

“Miss Satto!” Her name was called with a familiar gruff, impatient tone. “Well, don’t just stand there! Come, meet Mr. Veleno.”

The young woman spied her boss sitting behind his desk, a glowing cigarette butt cradled between his sausage-thick fingers. On the other side of the desk, sat a younger man, who turned around to gaze at her curiously.

“Mr. Veleno represents the interests of _The Republic Daily_ in accordance with the law,” Mr. Beck explained, before pausing to suck on the end of a fresh cigarette. “Now sit down. We’ve got work to do.”

Rhea shuffled forward obediently, dipping around the young man and sitting in the chair next to him. She kept her head low, painfully aware that despite her rushed efforts to tidy up this morning, that she still looked like a mess. Her hair was slung into another low, frizzy braid and she’d fished out some clean clothes that didn’t have bloodstains on them, but she still felt self-conscious.

When she settled herself into the chair, the young man--Mr. Veleno--turned to her and stuck out a hand. “Callix Veleno,” he greeted pleasantly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Beck has told me a lot about you.”

Rhea studied him for a moment before responding. His sandy blonde hair was long, but brushed to one side over his forehead. Instead of the typical dark suit, tie, and expensive leather shoes, he wore a trendy sports jacket, slacks, and sneakers. He didn’t look like a stereotypical lawyer--more like a well-dressed surfer or a skateboarder. But he had a warm smile, and kind eyes to match. Rhea reached slowly forward and gingerly shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Veleno.”

“Please, call me Cal.”

“Alright, that’s enough chit-chat!” Mr. Beck abruptly barked. “Time to get down to business. Mr. Veleno, you have the copy of the statement we want handed over to the police, don’t you?”

“Right here, sir.” The young man slipped a few sheets of paper out from a messenger bag by his side and slapped them onto the top of the desk. “It’s fashioned according to your specifications.”

Rhea’s eyes dashed back and forth between the two men. “Wait...I--I didn’t give any statement yet.”

Her boss’s furry eyebrows lowered critically. “We know, Miss Satto. The idea behind this meeting is to give only the essential, necessary facts to the police and leave the details to be printed in my paper. I took the liberty of asking Mr. Veleno to write it for you.”

The young woman’s face crinkled into a frown, and she whipped out a hand and grabbed the sheets of paper. She read it quickly. It did as Mr. Beck said; it outlined all of the basic facts that by this time were already well-known by the media. It was altogether a very vague, but accurate account. Although she was upset that she’d been cut out of the process of creating the statement, there wasn’t any material in it that she could object to. Reluctantly, she placed the document back onto the desk, and sat back frowning.

Cal Veleno leaned back towards her, his face twisted in a sympathetic expression. “It’s standard procedure, Miss Satto. All that’s left to do is sign.”

She grimaced back at him as Mr. Beck slid a pen within her reach. Rhea sighed heavily. What other choice did she have? She picked up the pen and signed the statement, albeit rather unhappily.

“Right,” Mr. Beck remarked, looking satisfied. He grasped the document off the desks and tucked it into his desk, before pulling out a new sheet of paper. “Now onto your new contract.”

As the Editor-in-Chief shifted it towards her, Rhea eyed the new document warily. As with everything else her boss designed, she doubted this new contract would do much to favor her. She’d have to read it carefully to make sure the conditions they’d discussed in the hospital had translated into print.

“Mr. Beck,” she began, taking a deep breath. “Can I have a day to look this over?”

Her boss’s puffy, mustached face wrinkled into a frown, and he blew a puff of smoke into the air.  It was clear he wasn’t pleased that she wouldn’t just sign it on command as she did with the police statement. An awkward silence stretched between them, with Mr. Beck staring unpleasantly at her, but this was one place where Rhea was willing to hold her ground. Unsurprisingly, after her encounters with Hisoka and Li Wenxin, her boss didn’t seem so frightening anymore. Regardless, she still cringed uncomfortably under his glare. Suddenly, Cal Veleno sensed the growing tension and interrupted it by standing.

“Mr. Beck, I’ll take her to coffee and we’ll go over the terms together in detail,” he offered, before turning his warm grin to Rhea. “That is, if you’ll have me, Miss Satto.”

The young woman blinked, slightly confused. She wasn’t used to strange young men inviting her to coffee. That kind of privilege was reserved for the tall, lithe beauties who had shining hair, curve-hugging clothes, and musical laughter--the kind of women who could enchant a man with a single look. No, she was definitely not that type of girl. She was the one that watched, leaning against the far wall, lonely and forgotten.

But despite her lack of an immediate response, the young lawyer seemed undeterred.  

“Oh, come on! It’ll be my treat. I promise I don’t bite,” he insisted, and then he laughed, a light and airy sound that made Rhea smile slightly, despite her shyness.

“I--I suppose,” she finally agreed, her eyes fluttering to the floor.

Cal Veleno extended his hand towards her once more, and she took it. He lifted the young journalist out of the chair and threw another nonchalant glance at her boss. “I’ll have both her and the contract back before the end of the day, alright Mr. Beck?”

“The contract’s all I need,” the Editor-in-Chief responded. “Miss Satto, after you’re done, I’ll give you the rest of the day off. But tomorrow you’re back on the grind. Got it?”

Rhea nodded quickly in compliance.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, before Cal Veleno led her by the hand from the room.

* * *

 

Frustration.

The irksome emotion filled Hisoka’s head, like a balloon threatening to pop. The magician sat alone once again in his apartment, the shattered, spider-webbed glass window next to him spilling fractals of sunlight into the room. He’d begun constructing a new tower of cards, but as he added to it piece by piece, he felt his motivation to finish ebbing. He was simply too distracted.

His interaction with Lilith this morning had blotted his mind with dark thoughts. The woman’s vulgar tactics hadn’t earned her the result she’d intended, but they had given Hisoka plenty of ideas with how to deal with her in the ring. She would regret having underestimated him when he was done with her. He felt his blood begin to grow hot as he continued to fantasize of their upcoming battle.

_Just one more day...after today..._

The magician impatiently tapped his fingers on the tabletop, listening to the sharp clicks as each of his nails contacted the wooden surface. A single card on the bottom layer of his unfinished tower shifted due to the slight vibrations, held for a moment longer, and then finally slipped. Hisoka watched apathetically as the entire structure collapsing gently imploded, leaving a flattened jumble of cards in front of him.  He sighed again, attempting to turn his mind towards other things that could occupy his interests for the time being. After flicking around the room for a bit, his eyes settled on his phone, set carefully an arm’s length from him.

Hisoka regarded the device for a silent, undecided moment. Then, very slowly, a dark, mischievous smile crept across his face.

* * *

 

Cal Veleno led Rhea to a small cafe adjacent from the newspaper’s offices. As he sat sipping a tall glass of cold brew across from her, Rhea thought that Cal’s slightly disheveled hair, youthful looks, and trendy clothes fit in much better in this casual, offbeat atmosphere. Despite the blistering heat of the sun outside, she ordered a cup of hot green tea, and when it arrived she nursed the steaming mug between her mangled fingers, allowing the warmth to soak into her weary, wounded flesh.  

To his credit, Cal didn’t seem to notice her scars--or if he did, he didn’t stare wonderingly at them or show any disgust. He seemed personable, polite, and kind, and although she’d only known him for a few minutes, Rhea was already beginning to enjoy his presence. However, she’d learned all too well in the last few days that outward politeness and pleasantries did not equal safety. Darker, dangerous things could lurk inside the minds of men, and so she kept aware and aloof as Cal attempted small talk.  

“Sorry about Mr. Beck,” he said once they had both gotten comfortable. “I’ve known the old man for years, and I can speak from experience that he _doesn’t_ get better as you get to know him.”

Rhea furrowed her eyebrows worriedly. “Oh. That’s unfortunate.”

Cal leaned one hand against his cheek and regarded her warmly. “Yeah, it is,” he said nonchalantly, before changing the subject. “You know before I decided to become a lawyer, I used to be a journalist. In fact, I started under Mr. Beck just like you did.”

The young woman blinked in surprise. “R-really? What made you leave?”

Cal shrugged. “I found out how much red tape you have to work through before you can publish a real news story. It’s almost impossible nowadays to write any hard news without getting sued by somebody for libel. Most papers have resorted to writing only meaningless fluff as a result.”

He laughed slightly at the memory. “And that’s why I left to become a lawyer. So I could understand that part of the business and break down some of those barriers.”

“And now you’re one of the men who puts them up and protects them,” Rhea chimed in, shooting him a skeptical look.

Cal took a sip of his coffee and sighed. “Kind of--what I learned is that those laws are put in place for a reason. Most people only just see one side of the tape. In actuality, they protect the journalist as much as they protect the subjects of the articles. That’s why I’m here, with you, after all. To make sure you’re protected.”

The young woman glanced town at the table top and tucked her hands neatly into her lap. “You mean to make sure that _the paper_ is protected from the people who want to poach my story.”

“No, no, I mean you. Rhea Satto--the _person_ ,” Cal insisted. He looked as though he wanted to reach across the table and grasp one of her hands in a assuring gesture, but Rhea’s tightly laced fingers tucked into her lap prevented this.

“I’m on your side,” the young man continued. “I want you to come out of this experience happy with how it worked out for you. And truthfully, Mr. Beck has offered you a generous deal.”

He paused for a moment to dig in his bag, retrieving the contract along with a pen. He set both items between them, and tapped the document enthusiastically with his fingers as he went on.

“This contract only limits you in one way: You can’t talk about your experience with Li Wenxin, or any elements of the trial that will surely commence, with any publication except _The Republic Daily_ or its affiliates. That’s it. Other than that, you’re free to write about whatever you like, whenever you like, or not at all if you prefer. Either way, Mr. Beck has agreed to pay you a weekly salary of $2000 until the Butterfly Killer sensation has ended.”

Rhea nearly dropped her cup of tea in her lap in shock. Two thousand dollars in a single week? That was more money than she’d ever seen at once in her lifetime.

Cal noted her reaction and grinned. “I told you it was generous. There’s more too,” he said, and then he turned to the last page in the document. “He put in a clause for your to write your own conditions. He said that you insisted on fulfilling the terms of your previous contract, so that’s been added, but it’s my job to make sure you’re satisfied.”

Rhea’s wide-eyed expression faded into one of nervousness at the thought of the continued interviews with Hisoka. Even though the cafe was awash with warm, golden rays of sunlight, goosebumps prickled up on her pale skin. As far as she was concerned, her original contract was now null and void. As of last night’s horrifying meeting, the Heaven’s Arena combatant controlled every aspect of their interactions--when and where they occurred, who asked the questions, and who answered them. If she disobeyed, the magician would find her and…

Rhea’s mind halted there. She didn’t want to think about what would happen then. What she did understand, however, with utter clarity, was that she had absolutely no control.

_It’s okay. Just keep breathing._  

Rhea’s inner mantra granted her clarity. Suddenly the terms of Mr. Beck’s contract looked a lot more appealing. At least with that agreement, she had the ability to govern at least some of the things that happened to her. She thrust out her palm, grasped the pen that lay on the table and looped her signature across the bottom of the document. Cal looked on, his expression slack with surprise.

“Wow, that was quick. I was under the impression that you’d need more convincing,” he remarked with a small chuckle. “You made my job easy, Miss Satto.”

Rhea didn’t respond, but instead placed the pen atop the contract and pushed both items back across the table towards the young lawyer. She tucked her hands back into her lap, her fingers twisting in and out of the fabric, her entire body humming, and her breath stayed with barely-there control.

Suddenly, a raucous buzzing erupted from the pocket of her coat, causing the young woman to nearly jolt out of her seat in a panic. After a moment, she realized that the noise was her phone ringing. The girl yanked it out and glanced down, an annoyed expression wrinkling her features. She was certain that Mr. Beck had become impatient and was calling to demand that she return with the signed contract. However, the notification on her screen wasn’t for a missed call, it was for a text message.

It wasn’t a number Rhea recognized at all. She glanced up at Cal hesitantly.

“By all means, check it,” he told her. “I don’t mind.”  

He smiled once again at her and then turned his attentions to slurping up the last of his coffee. The journalist felt slightly at ease again, swiped a finger across her phone. Pixelated words and symbols popped up on her screen.

When Rhea recognized what they meant, her heart leapt up into her throat, and she gasped.

_Time to fulfill your end of the deal. Meet at 2 o’clock in the front row of the West Arena on Floor 222 the day after tomorrow. See you then, Rhea Satto._ ★ -_- ❤️

* * *

 

**Author’s Note:** Sorry for the lack of Hisoka in this chapter. The next few chapters will have much, much more of him. And he’ll be in all his Hisoka-glory. I’m looking forward to writing it--and I hope you’re all excited to read it! Thank you for your readership and please, if you have the time, leave a comment! I’m always really appreciative of any compliment or criticism I receive. Thanks again, lovelies!


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